One Day Soon (34 page)

“Let me show you the spare room. There’s a double bed in there. The mattress is new, so it should be okay. The duvet is yellow. Nothing girlie and pink, I promise,” I chuckled nervously. Why was I so nervous?

“I’m sure it’s fine. You’ve seen the places I’ve slept before.” A laugh with no humor. “I’d take anything over that hospital.”

I pushed away from the counter, knocking into him. I hadn’t realized he was behind me. He stumbled back, his hands coming out to grab me.

Hold me.

Touch me.

Please…

His fingers never made contact.

The moment fizzled into nothing.

Always nothing…

“Okay, let me show you the room,” I said, wishing I didn’t sound as disappointed as I was.

What do I expect having him here?

But I knew, without a doubt, that there was still hope.

I led him down the narrow hallway, opening the door to the left and pushing it open. I flipped the switch on the wall and light flooded the small and overly cluttered room.

The spare room, like the rest of my house, was piled high with stuff. Random ski equipment I had only used once, old furniture, cast iron collectables, a collection of vintage fabrics I had thought to use for a re-upholstery project that never actually happened.

“I know there’s a lot of stuff in here.” I picked up a wicker basket overflowing with ribbons and hair ties.

Yoss looked around, his eyes flitting across things. Slowly he walked to the far corner and ran his hand along the wall. Over three distinct splotches of color that stood out against the cream background. Pink. Yellow. Green.

“What’s this for? Are you planning to paint the walls?” he asked, looking over his shoulder to where I stood.

“I was going to. A long time ago.” I smiled. “This was going to be Gabby’s nursery. I liked the yellow. Chris had wanted the pink. I hate pink. It’s such a stereotypically girly color. We fought about it of course. We compromised on the green.” I bit down on my bottom lip. But not to control the tears. There were none. Not anymore.

“Obviously we never painted it,” I finished, putting the basket back on the dresser. “But I finally got a yellow comforter for in here.”

“I like the yellow,” Yoss said, his attention on those three strips of random color that I could never bring myself to paint over. “I think it would look nice in here. Brighten things up.”

I snorted. “Since when have you decided to become an interior designer?”

Yoss grinned and then looked down at a pile of stuff that leaned precariously against the desk in the corner. “No way,” he breathed.

What was he looking at?

He lifted up a pair of worn roller skates I had bought on a whim many years ago.

Roller skates almost exactly like the ugly brown pair he had given me for my seventeenth birthday.

The pair that had been destroyed in the fire.

“Yeah, there should be another pair around here somewhere,” I said offhandedly.

I didn’t know why I bought two pairs of roller skates. Chris had looked at me as if I were crazy when I brought them home, so excited about my purchase.

“I hate roller-skating. Why would you buy those stupid things?”
he had asked me.

So I had put them with the rest of the junk I accumulated but could never throw out.

“Did you ever figure out how to stay on your feet?” Yoss joked, putting them down again.

“I haven’t really been since—”

“Maybe we should go sometime. If you can find the other pair that is,” Yoss suggested, surprising me.

He smiled.

I smiled.

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” I agreed, my heart expanding.

“Thanks,” he said again and I waved away his statement.

“I told you that you don’t need to thank me.”

Yoss frowned. “I’m thanking you not just for letting me stay with you. Though that’s more than you should be doing for me. I want to thank you for not…” He seemed to be at a loss for words.

He lifted his eyes, finding mine. Hanging on before he let go…

“For not letting me chase you away. I’ve become way too good at that.”

I crossed the room until I stood just in front of him. I could see how rapidly he was breathing. As if he had just run a marathon. His jaundiced skin stood out starkly in the darkened room. He looked tired, dark circles and blood shot eyes.

He seemed as though he was barely able to stand and I knew how hard all of this was for him. Not just physically. We were both going through an emotional ringer just by being here, together.

But it was worth it.

I had to think that.

I’d make him believe too.

I reached out and took his hand. He didn’t resist. His smile was exhausted. But it was real.

He moved closer. Magnets pulled together.

He cupped my cheek, his thumb running along the curve of my face. “You were better off without me, Imi,” he murmured. I opened my mouth to protest. To rage against this same old argument, but he went on before I could.

“But it’s obvious I have barely survived without
you.”

My stomach flipped and rolled and I leaned in, letting my lips touch his. Unable to resist the connection between us that had always been there.

“Imi,” he whispered against my mouth, before pulling me against him with a force that left me breathless.

Then he was kissing me.

With passion. With anger. With regret.

With something that felt a lot like love.

His fingers tangled in my hair. My hands slid up his shirt. I pressed my palms against fevered skin, hating, yet loving the texture of his familiar scars, rough and rigid.

I could feel his ribs. Each one prominent. Too prominent.

But I was holding Yossarian Frazier.

The love of my young life.

Possibly the love of my
whole
life.

He pulled away and framed my face with his hands. Our noses brushed against each other. Breath mingling. Souls clashing.

“Imi,” he said my name again. Softer. Quieter. He sucked in air, as if he were drowning. He closed his eyes, bracing himself.

“I—”

He never finished his thought.

The doorbell rang.

It echoed through the house, startling us both. I let out a noisy sigh and Yoss opened his eyes, running his thumb along the curve of my lips. “I think you’d better get that,” he said as the bell chimed again.

Whoever it was, clearly wasn’t very patient. I ran a hand through my hair.

“Okay. I’ll just be a minute. It’s probably an encyclopedia salesman or something.”

Yoss raised an eyebrow. “Is that even still a thing?”

The doorbell chimed again and I bared my teeth. “They better hope they’re selling something good.” Yoss laughed and I hurried from the room.

I pulled open the front door in a huff of frustration, a frown on my face.

And froze.

“Sorry to come by so late,” Chris said, not looking the least bit apologetic.

Chris O’Neil.

My ex-husband.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, feeling the deadened weight of his presence press down on me.

I glanced over my shoulder; relieved Yoss had remained in the spare bedroom.

Chris walked past me and into the house, clearly still feeling as if he belonged there. How wrong he was.

“I tried calling you a few times but you didn’t answer,” Chris said by way of explanation for his unwanted presence.

I didn’t feel particularly antagonistic towards my former husband. Even with his pushiness and demanding personality, I could only ever feel guilt.

Because the situation we found ourselves in was mostly my fault.

I should never have married him in to begin with.

Chris had been a placeholder in my life.

So I couldn’t summon the will to be angry with him for barging into the house that up until six months ago had also been his.

“Sorry, I must have it on silent,” I explained, closing the door behind him, praying I could get him out of the house before he figured out I wasn’t alone.

“What’s the point of having a phone if you never answer it?” he chastised. An age-old criticism. One of many.

Okay, so maybe I did feel more than guilt about Chris.

Right then I was feeling a whole lot of relief that I was no longer tied to him in any way.

Because he was definitely a dick.

“I’ll make sure to put that on my screw up list,” I deadpanned.

Chris frowned, shoving his hands into his wool pea coat. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he remarked.

Of course he didn’t.

That was just Chris. He was callous and unfiltered.

Just as I had always been placid and unemotional.

We were a really horrible pair.

“It’s late, Chris. Why are you here?” I asked again, showing my growing impatience.

“I was worried when you didn’t answer the phone,” Chris went on.

“What did you think would have happened to me between here and the hospital? Alien abduction? Human trafficking? Don’t be ridiculous, Chris,” I chided in frustration.

“Given the unsavories you work with on a daily basis—”

“Why. Are. You. Here?” I demanded, cutting him off.

My ex-husband appeared surprised by my obvious anger. I supposed seeing any sort of emotion from me was shocking considering he hadn’t witnessed much of it in the time he had known me.

I looked at Chris long and hard, trying to remember why I had been drawn to him.

Because he’s nothing like Yoss.

The truth was obvious now that I could face it. Yoss, whether he was around or not, had dictated so much in my life.

I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

Physically Chris and Yoss were nothing alike. Yoss had dark hair; Chris had ginger locks that he insisted on dying brown. He hated being a redhead and I only realized his natural hair color a month after we had been married and found the box of hair dye in the trashcan.

Yoss was tall and lean. Chris spent too much time at the gym trying to overcompensate for his short stature. He and I could look each other in the eye when I wore heels.

Yoss was beautiful. His face was perfect.

Chris was
all right.

Yoss set me on fire.

Chris and I were only ever lukewarm.

I liked Chris. He could be funny. He was smart and knew random facts about interesting things. He had always been easy to talk to. I had enjoyed his company. For the most part.

But enjoying his company hadn’t been enough for either of us.

I had hurt him. I knew that now. As I had closed myself away, protecting a heart that had already been given away, he had been desperately trying to hand me his.

And I had refused to take it.

“I was looking for my bowling shoes. I think I left them in the hall closet,” Chris stated almost defensively.

His bowling shoes?

Since when did Chris go bowling?

“Cut the crap, Chris. We both know that’s not why you’re here,” I snapped. I was feeling antsy, wanting him to leave. Yoss’s presence hung heavy in the house. Could Chris feel the difference?

Chris sighed and ran a hand through his hair. His roots were starting to show. He was slacking on the hair dye.

“I just want my bowling shoes. No ulterior motive, Imi. I promise. I think we’re both past my pathetic attempts at rebuilding whatever relationship we had. I don’t have it in me to bang my head against that particular wall anymore.” Chris’s words should have hurt. If I had loved him at all they would have.

Maybe there was a twinge deep down.

But it was impossible to find.

“Let me find them for you,” I said, not wanting to get into another argument about our failed marriage. Another round of placing the blame.

“I know where the hall closet is. I can get them myself,” he snapped, all but pushing past me so that he could reach the closet door behind me.

I stood aside as he rooted around my shoes and coats to find the mysterious bowling shoes I had never seen before.

After a few minutes Chris pulled out a pair of bright blue shoes I didn’t remember him buying.

“Here they are,” he announced.

“Huh. I’ve never seen those before,” I commented and then braced myself for the snide remark that was sure to follow. Something about how I never paid attention to him, so it wasn’t surprising. Or how my not realizing he owned a ridiculously ugly pair of bowling shoes was just another indicator of how bad I had been as a wife.

But he didn’t say any of those things. Instead he closed the closet door, tucking the shoes under his arm and turned to me.