“I’m sorry you have to live with that.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” In time I will heal. I lift up, sidling up to him. I weave my fingers with his and our hands rest on top of his leg. I like the size difference. I’ve always loved how much bigger he is than me. His strength in the way he leads his life is an aphrodisiac. I’m tempted to start another round with him, but I don’t, feeling time is slipping away from us. “You saved me.”
“I think you were doing a fine job of saving yourself.”
“I wouldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have been able to use that pen.”
“You would have if you needed to. You were holding it against his neck, not wavering, just doing what had to be done.”
I put my head on his shoulder. “He touched me . . . he was going to . . .” I stop speaking, my emotions a lump in my chest.
“I’m sorry.” Remorse wraps around his tongue when he speaks, and I hate it. I hate the sound of it in his voice. I hate the way the corners of his eyes tilt down as if he has any reason to apologize.
He’s not a monster. I hadn’t fallen in love with a monster like I feared.
“You’re not your father, Alexander. You’re better than he ever was.” When he doesn’t say anything, I do. “You’re King for a reason.”
“I don’t mind being Alexander with you, even if just for a little while.” The sentiment makes me smile until I realize it’s only in sentiment. We can’t be Alexander and Sara Jane. Not anymore. Like our innocence, the people we once were are long gone. He sighs, and pulls his hand from mine before leaving the bed. He disappears into the bathroom, and I watch when he returns to get dressed.
“Do you need me to carry your stuff to the bike?”
Stuff? I don’t have enough to fill a grocery sack, much less take with me. I look up, our eyes meeting in an impossible world as if a day never passed when we were apart. “No,” I reply, holding on to the awful coverlet that never saw better days or happy travelers. Studying the room and how my few acquired belongings fit so neatly into it, I know this is it. This is where I decide how I lead the rest of my life. I pull the dress with little flowers back on and put on a pair of sneakers. Sitting at the end of the bed, I look at the life I created. It’s not much, but it is mine.
“It’s almost eleven,” he says as if time matters anymore. The door opens, the sun floods in, and Alexander walks out.
I follow but stop in the doorway, my feet refusing to cross the threshold. His body moves with precision and certainty. Taking hold of the motorcycle, he uses his boot to move the kickstand out of the way. He knows the moment he sees me. His breath is almost audible I’m so in tune with his reactions. Closing his eyes, he lowers his head. When he looks back up, I see the hopeful yet guarded, confident yet burdened, expression. It reminds me so much of the day I first saw him. The day I heard him tell Cruise who I was, or rather, who I would be. “She’s not some girl. She’s my girl.” But now, he looks unsure. “Is this forever, Firefly?”
“No.”
“Don’t take too long.”
I can’t give him an answer to the silent question he’s asking, so I tell him the only thing I’m sure of, “I love you, Alexander.”
One nod and no words. That’s what he gives me in return. His leg swings over and with his back to me, he sits with the engine idling. I hold on to the doorframe, knowing if I let go I’ll get sucked back into his world. I’m not ready for that, so my grip tightens.
Alexander never looks back, but my eyes never leave him as I watch him ride away until I’m staring down an empty highway.
26
Sara Jane
I take a sip of coffee just as the diner door opens, letting in a cool wind. Eric/Jason walks in and sits at the counter in front of me. “You stayed?”
“I wasn’t ready to go.”
“I’m glad.”
“Okay, okay, settle down,” I joke. “I haven’t even had my coffee yet.” My audience is captive and entertained, making me smile. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please. I’m nursing a hangover.”
“That’s what you get for partying so much.” I reach for a mug and the coffeepot and fill the cup in front of him.
“What can I say, the ladies love my company.”
Laughing, I offer a menu, glad that this, whatever it is—friendship, I question—is easy between us. “Having breakfast today?”
He points to the menu in front of him. “A number one, eggs over easy.”
I place the order. With the coffeepot back in hand, I walk around the diner filling cups and delivering checks. When I return, his plate is up and I set it in front of him. “Bon appétit.”
He’s about to dig in, his fork hovering over his plate, but he stops and asks, “Alice?”
“Yep?”
“That guy last night . . .”
No need to hide behind lies anymore. “That’s my boyfriend.”
The short answer seems to be enough. He knows where we stand and where I stand with Alexander. “He’s a lucky guy.”
“I’m a lucky girl.” I don’t mean to sound so wistful, but after last night, Alexander has made all those romantic feelings resurface. I didn’t intend for my heart to be stuck in the clouds of hope again, but here we are, going round in this circle again. Maybe I’ll never be free from loving him. His love is so ingrained in me I’m not sure where Alexander ends and I begin. Even after all this time, I’m still a mess of unsettled emotions. One thing I know for sure is I have a lot to think about.
Jason goes back to his breakfast, letting the subject die down just as Della rushes in the front door and behind the counter. “My damn ex-husband has decided to fight for custody of my kid again.” This is nothing new. She’s always dealing with that asshole over something. “I have a court date. In case it takes longer than expected, can you stay a little late, if needed?”
She’s a good woman—nice boss, great mother, town saint for feeding so many who can’t pay their checks. I’ve been thinking about going home since Alexander showed up, but I can’t leave her in a lurch like that. What’s another week at this point anyway. “Sure. I’ll cover.”
“You’re a godsend, Alice. Thank you.”