Magnolia Road Read online

  Her naked body in front of mine as I gave her what she needed.

  What we both needed.

  It was just one night, Ethan.

  I thought she’d get over it. Hell, I never thought I’d run into her again, and the situation, her, me, us, would be easy.

  “Ethan?” Bryce is staring at me.

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  “Why’d you buy it? I asked.” She opens the fridge and puts the milk inside.

  “Investment. But, really, I couldn’t see it leave the family. It’s a house we’ve had since our dad was little. Our grandmother’s house. When she passed away, it was written in the will that Aaron and I split it, but he didn’t want it, so I bought him out.”

  Bryce leans against the fridge, crossing her arms. “Because you have all this time to fix up houses? Don’t you work, like, ninety hours a week?” She bites her lower lip.

  “Took some time off to work on the house. Just cosmetic stuff.” I stand from my lean, keeping my hands in my pockets, and look up at the interior of the house. “Structurally, she’s sound. The pink had to go though.”

  Bryce laughs. When she does, my heart slows down, and I stop breathing. Just for a moment. Her laugh is genuine, and the sound runs through my veins. I don’t dare allow her to see me smile when she does. She can’t get attached. I can’t go there. Not with her. I’m no good at this.

  Fucking James’s voice plays in my head again on repeat. “Fear of emotions—that’s why you’re scared of intimacy.”

  “Is Grandmother Casey also the one responsible for the bathroom color as well?”

  “She was color blind.”

  “Oh.”

  She’s biting her lip again, and I try not to smile.

  “Nana was proud of it. She was also cheap. Hence, the paint color.”

  The wind screams around the corner because the whole house takes on the gust, moving and creaking.

  She jumps.

  I smile. This time, I can’t hold it back. “Scare you?”

  “Caught me off guard, is all.” She grabs the back of her neck and rubs. Looks out the window.

  That night, as her breasts rested against my side while we lay in bed, I ran my fingers through her hair.

  I don’t do long-term. I don’t do relationships.

  Ethan, you need to leave.

  “I should go.”

  Bryce looks up at me. “Okay.”

  Nodding, I turn, hands stuffed down deeper in my pockets, just to be cautious, and I walk to the front door.

  Another blast of wind whooshes around the house as it moans with the uncomfortable adjustment.

  I stop and look back toward the kitchen to see Bryce standing there.

  I want to explain. I do. But I can’t. It’s better this way. She won’t get hurt in the end.

  “I’ll come back tomorrow. Finish up the paint,” I say from the doorway.

  Bryce wears a wall. She doesn’t allow people in too often. She comes off as the tough one, the brave one, for others to lean on. I saw that in LA. And I see it right now. What drew me to her was the wall. I wear the same one. I put the same one up, so I thought the beginning of the end of us would be easier. Something happened that night that I still can’t explain. I think it’s true for both of us.

  James will be pissed. But he doesn’t have to face Bryce. He doesn’t have to look her in the eyes when he’s fucked up. When he’s screwed things up.

  “Good night, Bryce.”

  “Good night, Ethan.”

  I drive to my house up on Monty Street, on a hill. I chose this house just for the view. The house was a shithole, but I’ve done some work on it.

  Making my way inside the house, I flip on the light to the kitchen and set my wallet, phone, and keys down. I throw leftovers in the microwave and jump in the shower.

  The hot water sinks into my skin, and it burns at first, but the longer I stand here in its stream, the more accustomed my body grows. I guess, if you stay anywhere too long, you grow accustomed to it. Get used to it. Just like living without, you grow into it. It might not be perfect or what you want, but eventually, you’ll settle down.

  I take myself in my hand and stroke just like I watched Bryce do to me as she looked in my eyes and witnessed my body crumple before hers.

  With each stroke, I told myself this was just a woman with needs.

  With each stroke, I told myself she’d be gone in the morning.

  With each stroke, I told myself that the look in her eye was lust; it wasn’t love. Love took time.

  But, when she stopped because she couldn’t take it anymore and she slipped on top of me and put me inside her, I almost lost it.

  And, when she whispered in my ear that she needed me—maybe it wasn’t for everything in life; she probably needed me for the physical—I pulled her off of me, tucked her beneath me, spread her legs from behind, and buried myself in her. I found out that night that she liked this position. I loved watching her hips as she squirmed. I loved grabbing her breasts from behind and listening to her moan as her back rested upon my chest.

  I’d never in my life felt so helpless, so not in control of myself. It scared the shit out of me. The fucking shit out of me. I’d been with women in my life. Slept with women in different cities with the travel I did with the military. But never once had I felt like I couldn’t walk away. That was the easy part. But, with Bryce, I’d entered a whole new, unfamiliar territory.

  I finish myself off, turn off the water, grab my towel, and dry off. I put some athletic shorts on and grab my dinner out of the microwave.

  Before I leave the kitchen, I see an email has come in on my phone.

  It’s Bryce. My heartbeat picks up, and I set my plate of food down and read the email.

  Dear Ethan,

  I’m really sorry about the bird comment in my last email. I come in peace and wish no harm on you.

  And thank you again for the coffee this morning. Thank you for your service to our country. I feel like an asshole now.

  Good night.

  Bryce

  I smile and hit Reply.

  Dear Bryce,

  You’re not an asshole. You’re anything but an asshole.

  Good night.

  Ethan

  I try not to get my hopes up that she’ll respond, but I take my phone and my plate of food to the living room and turn on the television to the hunting channel. Something my brother and I used to enjoy a lot together. Something I’ve had a hard time getting back into since coming back from Iraq, but I go because I get to spend time with Aaron. Somewhere along the way, I lost the passion for hunting.

  In the war, we had to make split decisions that changed people’s lives. Changed our lives. Changed what we’d thought and how we thought and if we thought. I had gone over there with a platoon of eighteen guys. The first tour, we came home with twelve. The second tour, we went over with twenty-two guys and three women. We had come home with nineteen.

  Although I’m not ordered to see James anymore, I do. Just seems to help get things out a little better, I guess. Makes it easier on my parents, my brother. I’m not the same man I was when I left for the Marines at age eighteen. I don’t regret the decision. I will always be a Marine. But I saw things and did things that changed the course of my life.

  An email notification pops up on my phone.

  It’s from Bryce.

  Dear Ethan,

  I’d like to offer a truce. I’ll cook dinner. Tomorrow night at six p.m. My house. Wait, your house, the one I’m renting. The pink, now half-gray one.

  Please RSVP because dinner for one won’t work. Or the conversation might get a little one-sided. Lol.

  Bryce

  A half-smile spreads across my face, but then it fades.

  I can’t. I can’t go. I want to go, but I can’t.

  But what if you can go?

  You can’t.

  Expectations come with dinner, Ethan. Expectations you will never be able to fill.

&nb
sp; I don’t respond yet. I need to think on it, and I can’t tell her I need to think on it because I don’t want to hurt her feelings. That’s the last thing I want to do. But, by saying no now, it might allow her to adjust and maybe find someone who’s not me. Someone who can be the man she’s looking for. I can’t be that person.

  I respond.

  Dear Bryce,

  I’d like to eat dinner with you, but I can’t. I have plans.

  Rain check?

  Ethan

  My phone rings. It’s my mom.

  Fuck.

  My mom has the ability to call at the most inconvenient times.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “Hey, honey. Did you get the leftovers I put in your fridge today?”

  “I did. Thanks, Mom.”

  It’s quiet for a minute, just the low hum of two televisions in the background—my father’s news on one end and the hunting channel on mine.

  “How was your day today? Did you get the painting done?”

  “Until the wind kicked up.”

  It’s as if my mom calls to check on me every evening to be sure I’m all right. It’s not like I’ve ever flipped out or anything. She’s just noticed the change in me since I came back, just like my brother and dad have.

  “Do you need me to do any of your laundry?”

  “I’ve got it, Mom.”

  “I have time to do it, Ethan. It’s really no big dea—”

  “Mom,” I interrupt, “I’ve got it.”

  “Right,’ she sighs into the phone. “I know you do.” She says this as if she’s trying to convince herself that I’m okay.

  Some days, I have to convince myself that I’m okay.

  “Listen—” She coughs, her attempt to remove the wobble in her tone. The worried tone. “The Murdocks are coming for dinner tomorrow night and bringing Milton’s niece. She’s in town for a few days. Thought you might want to meet her.”

  No, Mom. But I can’t tell her no on this because I can’t stand the worry in her voice. “What time?”

  “Six.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Oh, good. You need a nice girl in your life, Ethan.”

  Here we go again. I roll my eyes and run my hand over my face. “Mom, I’m tired. Just need to get some sleep.”

  “Okay, honey. See you tomorrow night.”

  Nine

  Bryce

  “The Marines?” I say to Alex, who’s on the other end of the line.

  I had known Ethan had served, but I hadn’t known it was the Marines.

  “Eli said he doesn’t talk about it much. But he did two tours in Iraq. Eli said he volunteered to go back for the second tour.”

  I called Alex because I wanted to hear her voice, but I also wanted to get more information on Ethan. I was tired of hiding behind the bush. Tired of not asking questions, for fear that someone might find out. Who cares? Who cares that we slept together? But I can’t slip anything past her. We’re quiet for a moment.

  “It’s kind of obvious,” Alex breaks the silence.

  “What is?”

  “Come on, B, you know I see the way you look at him.”

  “With disdain and hatred?”

  She laughs into the receiver. “Everything but.”

  Alex waits for me to elaborate, but I’m not ready to share our night together with anyone. I keep the memories of our night together tucked away behind the cookie jar, and at night, when I’m desperate for his touch, I reach for the memories and allow myself to get lost in the feelings they bring.

  Flash: Me against the wall. Him holding me in place with his middle, pushing into me with slow, controlled thrusts.

  Flash: Us as we lose ourselves in each other.

  Flash: Him between my legs, using his tongue to make me arch off the bed.

  “You know?” I ask.

  “I don’t have to know anything to read my best friend.”

  “How come you didn’t ask?”

  “Wasn’t my place. I assumed you’d tell me when you were ready.”

  “I’m not ready.”

  “I know, B.” Alex pauses. “From what Eli says, Ethan is a really good guy. Messed up from the war but a really good guy.”

  “Messed up from the war,” are the words that float on the loose ends of web strings, attaching themselves to anything to stop the free fall. This notion I can’t accept.

  The night we spent together wasn’t a night that was messed up. It was everything but. It does somewhat explain his abrupt departure that morning. It might explain some of his odd behavior. But what I refuse to believe is that he’s messed up. Different, yes. A changed man, as he should be. War changes people. He’s not used goods. Unsalable goods. He’s a good man who’s seen a lot of death. Sadness within despair.

  I hear a baby’s cry in the background.

  “All right, it’s bedtime for the Young girls.”

  “Love you. Give the girls kisses.”

  “On it. Love you, too,” she says and hangs up.

  I hold my phone in my hand, daring myself to email Ethan. You’re not a child, Bryce, for God’s sake. You’re a grown-ass woman. If you want to email a man, email him.

  So, I do.

  Dear Bryce,

  I’d like to eat dinner with you, but I can’t. I have plans.

  Rain check?

  A rain check? Plans? Right. Of course he does. What if he has a girlfriend? Oh, God, Bryce. Ethan seems private, so of course, Alex or Eli wouldn’t know if he had a girlfriend. Shit. How could you have been so stupid? So forward?

  I roll my eyes and toss my phone on the coffee table.

  I decide to watch Steel Magnolias again. I bite my thumbnail because of the damn email I just sent to Ethan, cursing myself under my breath, and when my teeth meet the quick, I instantly regret the last bite.

  My phone sounds. It’s a text from an unfamiliar number. I look down at my phone and open the text.

  Unknown Number: Does dearest Daddy know what you did, Bryce? Taking things that don’t belong to you is always a no-no.

  Immediately, I grow hot, light-headed. My stomach begins to twist and turn and move.

  Taking things from people that don’t belong to you is always a no-no.

  Me: Who is this?

  I play into their game. I wait for a response, and my eyes dance back and forth between the movie and my phone screen as I fight the nauseating feeling building in my throat.

  There’s no response from the unknown number.

  What does he know? She know? This is a secret too well hidden for anyone to find.

  Immediately, I text my brother and don’t think about the fact that I haven’t spoken to him in a long while. Don’t wonder if this text will come out of the blue. Hell, I’m not sure I will even get through. Sometimes, his numbers work; sometimes, they don’t. I have a total of seven phone numbers for him, labeled as Ryker 1, Ryker 2, Ryker 3, Ryker 4, Ryker 5, Ryker 6, and Ryker 7. Being the addict that he his, things like phone numbers and mailing addresses are always in limbo.

  His excuses:

  “Lost my phone.”

  “Working on getting a new one.”

  “Moving.”

  “Roommate trouble.”

  Ryker knows Mom would take him back again, back home, where he’d have a clean bed, toothpaste, a toothbrush, warm food. But he’d never move back home. We both agreed, when we turned eighteen, we would move out and never return to living with Mom. Because that was like living with an Apache helicopter. She’s always hovering. Mothering. Smothering. And, if you didn’t abide by her rules, answer her incessant questions, well, that was fine, but you’d better pack your shit because she’d send you on the biggest, all-expenses paid guilt trip of your life.

  I text each number.

  Me: It’s your sister. Call me. It’s important. Someone knows.

  From each number came an alert.

  Message Not Delivered.

  “Shit.”

  My heart picks up pace as p
anic sits in my throat.

  The night, just a year ago, is fuzzy. Hazy. The memories will never fade from my mind. I did what I had to do. What I had been tasked to do. That night still haunts my mind, invades my unconscious thought.

  “Regrets are for those who refuse change.” I remember Ethan’s words like a memory that I’d rather not cling to.

  I turn down the movie just a bit, so I can think, praying Ryker will get my text somehow, because all this was done to protect them after all.

  I’ll need to take a Benadryl tonight; otherwise, I won’t sleep.

  In life, I think we all question our decisions. Right. Wrong. Indifferent. Still, I know it was the right decision. The right action. Even though it sometimes doesn’t feel like it.

  In my makeup bag in my purse next to the couch is a little container of pink Benadryl. I take one and turn off the movie, and everything is dark. I embrace the darkness, allowing it to consume me, quiet my racing mind. I breathe, curling up, and pull the afghan that sits neatly on the back of the couch to drop it over me.

  I wait for morning.

  And, with this text, I know who’s been threatening my family.

  It’s the smell of coffee that rouses me, calls my eyelids to open. But it’s the racket outside that makes me jump.

  Up on the couch in the sitting position, I wait for the noise again.

  I stand, gathering my location and the date, and I walk to the window, pull back the curtains, and watch as Ethan carries the ladder to the side of the house where he was yesterday, most likely touching it up. I quickly realize that red is Ethan’s color with his Red Sox hat, and the way his chest and arms fill the black T-shirt makes my body feel things I probably shouldn’t. When he notices me, I pull away, drop the curtain, and step back.

  “Shit. What time is it?” I look to the clock on the wall. Just after ten. I slept later than I wanted to.

  Ethan must have made coffee. Ethan must have seen me sleeping.

  Shit!

  Quickly, I run to the bathroom and clean up my face, brush my teeth, and jump in the shower.

  The hot water feels good against my back from the awkward sleeping position on the couch. The water beats down on my body, and I wait for it to wash away the worry.

  He’s back. He’s back because this is his house, and he’s doing the painting. Of course he’s back.