The Space Between (38 page)
“I tried!” I shouted, my arms spread wide. “I’ve tried everything. I don’t know what else to do! I wrote her a letter to tell her that we’d make it work, and I tried to talk to her during the pictures today, and every day this week and…nothing.”
“Try again.” Lauren rubbed my arm. “Don’t let her think you’re giving up. She’s expecting that. She’s used to people walking away from her, abandoning her, and she’s used to protecting herself because no one else ever has.”
Matt wrapped his arms around Lauren’s waist, announcing, “I’m taking you to bed, Mrs. Walsh.”
“That sounds splendid, but I never agreed to change my name.”
Matt laughed against Lauren’s neck. “You don’t have to, sweetness, but don’t think I’ll stop saying it.” He smiled at me. “Whatever my
wife
told you to do, do it.”
They walked toward their cottage on the far end of the beach, and I absently waved as my siblings took their cues and relocated the party to Sam’s cottage.
Time ambled by while I sat in the sand and watched the waves as they met the shore. They never stopped. Some waves pounded the sand with force and fury, leaving trails of broken shells and seaweed in their wakes. Others merely lapped the shoreline. But they never stopped.
Forever intertwined and necessary for each other in ways only they knew.
A wave curled across the shoreline as it broke and I turned my head to watch its path, and there she was. No more than five feet away, Andy stood with her shoes hanging from two fingers. I blinked, stunned and speechless, and she nodded with an uneven smile.
“I’m going to sit down, if that’s okay.” She held my gaze a moment before dropping to the sand.
A breath away, with her toes dug into the sand, Andy sat gazing up at the night sky.
“It came to my attention that I’m an insufferable, self-important bitch,” she announced after a long silence. My brow furrowed, and she elaborated. “My friend Jess, from Wiscasset. The one who likes all those smarmy clubs?” Eager to keep her talking but utterly confused, I nodded. “She dumped me last weekend. Cited my self-important bitchiness as well as my intolerance for smarmy clubs and idiots, even if they’re nice. The idiots, not the clubs.”
Her toes emerged from the sand and burrowed under again, and she shifted her gaze over the ocean. “I’ve been trying to feel bad about it, and I truly regret that I didn’t take better care of her feelings, but I’m not sad we went our separate ways.” Andy sighed and brushed the sand from her fingers. “We outgrew each other, and we didn’t get each other anymore. I need to take better care of the people who are important to me. Much better care. All of this,” she swept her hand in the direction of the ceremony area and the tent. “It’s too short to spend with people that aren’t right for me. It sounds cold and it sounds bitchy, but I’m not apologizing.”
I wasn’t right for her, and she was saying her final goodbye. “Does that mean you’re…?”
“Sometimes, the worst decisions…they make all the difference,” she said, her voice faltering. She tore a hammered silver cuff from her wrist and dropped the back of her palm against my knee. “Bruce drew it.” She lifted a shoulder. “I like that it’s kind of wonky.”
The moonlight illuminated the delicate shape of a lopsided shamrock inked alongside her pulse. A breathless minute passed while I studied the thin lines.
I used to think Andy didn’t give me much, that she only presented bite-sized morsels of herself when it suited her, that it was a matter of playing the long game. Tracing the ink as my heart beat a bruising rhythm against my ribs, it was obvious I was wrong. Andy gave me everything. Her everything never took the shape or color I expected, and she forced me to see it in places where I never intended to look. But it was everything I needed.
“Bruce?” I asked, my finger tracing the lines.
“Bruce. The bartender. He’s studying graphic design. Good guy. He poured an excellent gimlet, and pointed out that Jess and I wanted our old relationship, and we never accounted for the fact we’re different people now. We handled each other with too much passive-aggression, and that’s why it all blew up. He also convinced me to stay even when I wanted to resign. And when I sat on the curb in Chinatown and cried about you after last call, he asked me what I needed to feel better. I told him I needed some Peking duck and a flawed shamrock, and he made sure I got both. Then he took me home and hid my phone so I wouldn’t do anything I regretted.”
I wanted to hug Bruce the Bartender.
She nodded at her wrist. “I risked it all with you, Patrick, and it kills me you never told me about the partnership structure. I’m a perfectionist and I freak out when I feel trapped in situations. Finding out you never intended to have another partner, or partners from outside your family, that was a nightmare. I need you to be upfront with me about that stuff. Can you handle all that?”
I closed the gap between us and tipped her face toward me, away from the ocean. “I should have told you and I own that clusterfuck. I can’t change the partnership structure right now. You know that and you know I was serious when I said I would.” My eyes closed as my lips pressed against her wrist, offering a thousand silent apologies.
“I know, I know,” she sighed. “I’m sorry I freaked out and it took so long to crawl out of it. I just…I felt like I needed to protect myself, and backing far away was the only option.”
I nodded, recognizing Andy adhered to her own timelines, even if they were infuriating. Rushing her wasn’t in the cards for me. “I figured out I won’t turn into a sadistic bastard if I lose you,” I said against her racing pulse. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you. I love you too much to let you walk away.” Her fingers curled around my cheek and I leaned into her caress. “I don’t expect this to be easy, Andy, but you’re
it
for me. And I think I might be it for you.”
Looking up, a tiny smile pulled at her lips and she nodded.
“I can handle you. I might Google half of what you say, but I can handle you.” My fingers dug into her hair to loosen the knot and she promptly slapped me away to do it herself. “I’m telling you right now, I am far from perfect and I will fuck up again. You have to promise you’ll talk to me, always. I love you, Andriel. Just don’t shut down on me.”
Her head snapped up. “You remember?”
“I’m from Boston
and
Irish. It takes a lot more to get me blacked out.” She stared at me, confused. “I remember everything about that night.” My arm wrapped around her waist and my lips pressed to her neck, I inhaled a wisp of lavender and felt my universe slide into its rightful place. “It’s probably the only thing that’s gotten me through this past week. What was that second middle name again? The long one?”
“Mazanderani.” I met Andy’s eyes. “There’s more to talk about.”
“Yeah, there probably is,” I conceded.
“But right now…” Andy smiled, and speared her fingers through my hair. “This is terrifying and amazing,” she whispered against my lips. “I love you, and you’re mine. You’ve been mine since the start, and even before then. It just took some time to figure out. That seems to happen for me a lot.”
I hauled Andy to her feet and claimed her lips as the last words vibrated between us. I tasted her tart cherriness and I knew I could make it to our cottage in a few strides if I kept all thoughts above the belt. I needed to feel her skin, needed to be inside her while she told me she loved me, and I wanted to hear it again very soon.
“And if something is terrifying and amazing, you should definitely do it, right?” I murmured, pulling her across the sand.
“Definitely, Patrick.”
Kate Canterbary doesn’t have it all figured out, but this is what she knows for sure: spicy-ass salsa and tequila solve most problems, living on the ocean—Pacific or Atlantic—is the closest place to perfection, and writing smart, smutty stories is a better than any amount of chocolate. She started out reporting for an indie arts and entertainment newspaper back when people still read newspapers, and she has been writing and surreptitiously interviewing people—be careful sitting down next to her on an airplane—ever since. Kate lives on the water in New England with Mr. Canterbary and the Little Baby Canterbary, and when she isn’t writing sexy architects, she’s scheduling her days around the region’s best food trucks.
You can find Kate on:
