Sitting up groggily, I pat around the hotel bed in search of my phone.
The thousand thread-count sheet drops to my waist, and I scratch at my bare chest, yawning.
My cell is dead, so I throw it back down among the sheets. Grabbing the hotel phone, I hit the number for room service, holding the receiver between my ear and shoulder.
“What time is it?” I ask rudely when a soft, feminine voice answers.
“One o’clock in the afternoon, sir.”
Fuck.
“Can you send up a cheeseburger and fries? A coffee and two cans of Coke, please?”
She recites my order back, and I grunt an affirmation into the line before hanging up.
Plugging my laptop and phone in to charge before I shower, I ignore the spilled-out minibar. Tiny alcohol bottles empty and scattered across the carpet in remnants of a sorrowful evening.
I vomit in the shower. Both ashamed and relieved as the contents of my stomach wash away with the rain of water.
After using the hotel towel to dry my cock and balls, I discard it on the floor and move toward my suitcase to pull on a pair of sweats just in time for a knock on my door.
Swallowing a half can of Coke in one go, I shake my head as the fizz hits my nose and eyes. It wakes me up, and I blink widely. The smell of the cheeseburger turns my stomach, so I pick at the fries as my laptop turns on.
I flick through emails, ignoring most, pausing when one burns my eyes.
Henley Wright accepted your friend request.
“What the fuck?” I murmur, throwing my half-eaten french fry onto the plate as it all comes crashing back.
Me deciding Addy was right. That my generic emails were piss-poor and forced as fuck. I came to the drunken conclusion that social media would alleviate my guilted obligation.
Brooks, you fucking idiot.
Exhaling loud enough to make me cough, I hover the mouse over the search bar before tapping my index finger. I open the web page and log in without issue.
A small red box appears in the top right of my screen, and I can’t click on it fast enough.
The picture on her profile is taken of her back. Her (bare) feet planted firmly on a grassy hill, a white lighthouse artfully framing the right side of the photo. Henley’s arms are stretched outward, her head tipped back, facing the bright blue sky. She’s dressed simply in a pair of cutoffs, a white shirt, and a black wide-brimmed hat, her hair flying in the direction of the wind. She looks perfect.
I click on the picture.
“Byron Bay, New South Wales, Australia,” I read aloud.
The top of her profile has a box that reads “Message.” I click on it.
Brooks: Australia, hey?
She responds immediately.
Henley: It’s beautiful. Have you been?
Brooks: No.
I start typing an apology but delete the words, knowing nothing I can say will fix what I did.
Henley: I’ve missed you.
I sigh in relief. She said it first. My heart regulates, slowing from the racing gallop it was caught in only moments ago.
Brooks: I’ve missed you, too. I’m so fucking sorry for Glasgow.
There. I said it. I brought up the moment that I thought had shattered our friendship forever.
Henley: It’s in the past, Brooks. Please, let’s just forget it. Did you speak to Addy?
Forget it?
Forget the overwhelming need I felt to claim her, to kiss her, to own her?
Forget the obvious way in which she clearly wanted it too?
I’d happily forget her rejection, but forget what passed between us? Never.
Brooks: Engaged!!!
I ignore my own psychotic thoughts.
Henley: Crazy. Good crazy.
Brooks: Definitely good crazy.
Henley: Where are you?
Brooks: China.
Henley: I was there a few months back.
Brooks: Addy mentioned.
Brooks: How long will you be in Australia?
Henley: Forever?
Henley: Joking. Or not.
Henley: It’s BEAUTIFUL, Brooks.
Henley: You HAVE to visit.
I want to hop on a plane yesterday and meet her in the future.
Brooks: I’ll add it to my bucket list.
Henley: Do. Promise me.
Brooks: For always.
A pause.
I’ve scared her.
Shit.
Henley: For keeps.
Henley: I really do miss you. I wanted to carve our names into the Great Wall, but I couldn’t bring myself to maim it.
Brooks: Me too.
Henley: I miss our rock.
Brooks: What’s your #?
She sends it without delay, and I grab my cell, texting the photo that sits as my wallpaper, and wait.
Henley: You have a photo of it!!
Brooks: It's my phone background.
My phone rings a second later, and I answer faster than humanly possible.
“Why did we let ourselves get here?”
Her voice sounds so sad. So broken. So much like how I remember it from all those years ago. And all I want to do is crawl through the phone and hug her, reassure her as I used to.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
“Are you happy?” she asks quietly.
“I love my job. I love the places it takes me.”
“That’s not what I asked you,” she pushes.
I sigh. It’s a poignant question. One with an answer I’ve never been game enough to admit, even to myself. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Me either. Being lonely when surrounded by people feels silly, but it’s the only way to describe how I feel.”
I close my eyes.
I feel that each and every day.
“It’s the worst kind of loneliness, Brooks.”
“I know,” I whisper.
19
HENLEY
My heart beats faster than it should.
Excitement, nerves, anticipation maybe?
I’ve missed Brooks. Terribly.
I hated the way we left things after Glasgow. I blamed him, but in truth, it was me. All of it.
I made the decision to keep Aaron a secret until the very last minute.
I acted like I wanted him to kiss me. I pushed the limits of our friendship to the very edge because I wanted his lips on mine.
I lied by omission to Aaron.
Every fractured feeling was my doing.
And I deserved the aftermath.
I told Aaron about Brooks the moment I walked back into his apartment. Guilt having claimed me completely.
He was pissed, understandably, ranting about trust and honest lines of communication. He told me he forgave me, that he understood temptation and appreciated that I stopped
