Deciding Tomorrow (2 page)

“So, how was your flight?” Brent asks as he’s changing lanes.

“Early.”

“What time did you have to get up?”

“Around five.”

“That sucks.”

“It’s okay,” I respond, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t mind at all. It’s just good to see you again.”

Brent takes my hand in his and brings it to his mouth. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I can. I just flew for over four hours to get here. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. Trust me, it’s real.”

Lowering our joined hands, Brent rests them on his leg as he continues to drive down the highway. “Do you want to do anything special while you’re in town?”

“Just hang out with you. That’s all.”

His mouth twitches, and he shakes his head.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“You’re just so…I don’t know. Different.”

“Different how?”

“It’s like everything I ask you…well, you have had a straightforward answer for it all.”

“There’s a reason for that.” I grip his hand tighter. “I made a promise to myself that by doing this, coming here, I wouldn’t hold back. I want to be here, and I just don’t want there to be any question in your mind about that.”

He flicks on the turn signal. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” My thumb strokes the back of his hand. “We have so much to deal with as it is. I think us being up-front is going to make this easier.”

“Huh…so, anything I ask you, you’ll give me a truthful answer?”

“Yeah. I think we have enough shit between us. No reason to add any more.”

“Hmm…” A sly grin creeps up his face. “Okay. Honest.” He pauses. “So, are you nervous about staying with me?”

“A little.” I catch myself in a half-truth. “Okay, a lot.”

He puckers his lips. “Did you think about me all week?”

“What do you think?”

“Hey, you said you would give honest answers, so give.”

“Yes.” I squirm a little in the seat. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was ridiculous.”

“I think I like this,” he comments.

“You know, you could return the favor a little.”

“Okay, sure.” Brent adds pressure to my hand. “Ask me a question.”

“Did you think about me all week?”

“Ruby…” His dimples disappear, and he concentrates on the vehicle in front of us. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that first day I took you on the lake when we were in high school.”

I’m rendered speechless by his answer. I blink, and then I blink again.

“Is it my turn to ask?” he questions, not allowing the silence to linger too long.

I clear my throat, forcing my voice to return. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead.”

“Are you excited to see me naked?”

I laugh hard, pulling my hand out of his grip to cover my mouth.

“I take that as a no?” he jokes.

Heat rises to my cheeks. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“You flew thousands of miles, all the way out here, and my hot naked body wasn’t on your mind at all?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to be that honest.”

“So, you have been thinking about it?”

Turning my head toward the window, I quietly say, “Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

“I said, yes!” I frustratingly shout.

“I knew it. Now, you’re talking,” he says with a touch of mock pride. “Keep it coming. Tell me more.”

“I don’t want to talk about your body.”

I peek at him and he looks at me curiously.

“Are you suggesting that you want to do other things with my body?”

I playfully shove his shoulder. “Just concentrate on the road.” I laugh, situating myself to face forward, as I cross my arms in front of me.

We travel in silence, passing two more exits.

Brent chuckles out of the blue.

“What are you laughing at?” I giggle.

“Nothing.”

“Liar. Tell me.”

“I was just wondering what part of my body you’re thinking about right now.”

“Honestly?”

“Yes, honestly.”

“Your mouth.” I smooth my hands over my thighs.

“Why? Are you dying to kiss me?” he teases.

“Oh. My. God. What has gotten into you? No. I want you to stop talking about your body.”

“Hey, you’re the one who started all the honesty talk. I’m just playing along.”

“Well, thanks for that.” I shake my head. “Who knew you were so obsessed with being naked?”

“I’m a guy,” he says, lowering his voice to a deep baritone. “It’s part of my DNA.”

“Right,” I mockingly huff. “Lame excuse. Blame the double helix.”

“Nerd.”

“What? Why? Because I said double helix?”

“No, because you can’t stop thinking about me naked.”

“Oh, I give up.” I toss my hands in the air and then cross them over my middle.

Brent touches my elbow and then searches for my palm before lacing our fingers together. He shakes them a little, silently calling for my attention. Turning so that my shoulder is against the seat, I position myself to face him once again. He peeks in my direction, and it’s clear that his moment of teasing has come to an end—for now.

“I’m really glad I found you again.” He takes our joined hands and rests them on his leg.

“Me, too.”

TWO

Pulling off the main thoroughfare, we proceed down a narrow street. Straight ahead, the ocean water sparkles under the sun and into the horizon. The road is framed on both sides with stucco houses, pale in color, that extend higher than they are wide. Traveling a few short blocks, the height of the homes gets smaller and smaller as we progress closer to the water. The street declines drastically.

Brent pulls into the short driveway of a house about two blocks from where the pavement ends, and the sand begins. 

“This is it,” he says, putting the car into park and shutting off the engine. “Are you ready to go in?”

Gazing through the windshield, I note the size of the house. I wish he’d said something, so I didn’t feel so…surprised. It’s no secret that Brent makes good money, way more than I could have ever imagined, but having a place this close to the ocean and of this size is impressive, and not to mention, likely expensive.

“Are you ready?” he questions me again.

I gulp. “No, but let’s go.”

Placing my hand on the door, I empty myself from the car into the warm California air, and the salty scent of the ocean hits my nose. The slightly humid breeze whips my brunette hair around, causing a few strands to cling to my lip balm–covered mouth. I tug out my bag from the backseat and sling it over my shoulder.

“Let me get that,” Brent says, reaching for the strap of my duffel.

“It’s okay. I got it.”

He tongues the inside of his cheek and nods, and then he starts toward the side of the house with me following close behind.

“The front door is upstairs?” I ask when a set of steps comes into view.

“No, but my place is.”

“Oh.”

He climbs the stucco-lined staircase with me on his heels. Of course I check out his ass. It’s right there.

“So, you live in an apartment?”

“Yeah, the top unit is mine.”

“I see.” I obviously overreacted about the size of the house. The location is still amazing though.

He peeks down at me over his shoulder. “It’s not that bad once you get used to it.”

“What isn’t?”

“The climb.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.”

We reach the top landing, and Brent pulls out his keys.

“It’s no worse than the flight of stairs to my apartment,” I add.

He turns the knob and opens the door, revealing the interior of his place. He steps aside and allows me to enter first. The space itself is open, and the view from the entryway alone is breathtaking. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, just over the neighbors’ rooftops lays the pristine ocean water where the waves are gently lapping. The thin whitecaps break at the ocean’s surface into the hazy horizon. 

“Let me take your bag,” Brent says, pulling the strap from my shoulder.

We tread down the short hallway, passing the open kitchen to the right, and we stop in the living area where he sets my bag down near the couch. I continue toward the glass doors leading to the balcony. 

“Cohen’s still here,” Brent states, joining me at the edge of the room. “He’ll be leaving tonight after the match. I’ll put your bag in the spare room once he’s packed.”

The spare room?

“Okay,” I say, lifting my eyes to meet his before looking out the glass door again.

“Is it? Okay?”

I sigh.
Time to pull the truth card.
“I just assumed that I would be staying with you, not in the guest room.”

“You can stay with me,” he says, apologetic. “I just didn’t want you to feel pressured into anything or think…well, you know, that I expect for us to...”

I lean my forehead against the cool glass. “I brought my chastity belt, if that helps.”

“I’m serious.” His tone indicates that he’s not fond of my sarcasm.

“Brent…this is all…”

“What?”

“Easy and hard at the same time.”

“That’s an understatement.” He steps in closer, grasping my fingertips with his own. “I wish there were some rule book of how to do this. I don’t know where to start.”

“Neither do I.”

“I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

“I know you are, and I appreciate it.”

“But you don’t like it, do you?”

I lick my lips. “No, I do. It’s just…”

“Tell me,” he insists.

“I don’t know. I want to do the right thing, too, but I don’t know what that is.” I grunt, frustrated. “I don’t want to stay in the guest room.”

Brent smirks, and his dimple dances on the left side of his face. “I don’t want you to either.”

He pulls me against his firm chest, and my hands make their way around his waist, hooking behind his back. Inhaling deeply, I relax into him as he squeezes me tightly. 

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” he quietly says.

“And that’s why I trust that you won’t.”

Turning my head, the sound of his heart beats strongly against my ear, and a comforting feeling from long ago suddenly comes within my grasp despite our time apart.

Someone clearing his throat alerts us that we’re not alone. Disconnecting my hands, I turn toward the center of the room. Brent slides his arm over my shoulder as we face his younger and only brother, Cohen.

Cohen certainly has grown up a lot since I last saw him almost five years ago. Their build is similar, only Brent has grown more into his frame, and their height is almost identical. However, Cohen’s eyes are much lighter, more of a blue hue, and his hair is a sandy color. 

“Hey, Cohen,” Brent says. “You’re awake.”

“Yep.” He shoves one hand in his jeans pocket while the other scratches the back of his head. “Showered, too.”

“Hi, Cohen,” I say, stepping out of Brent’s arm to more formerly greet his brother. “Long time no see. How have you been?”

“Not bad, Ruby. And yourself?”

“Good. Brent said you’re at UNC? In North Carolina?”

“Yep.”

Unsure of what else to say, I wait in the growing silence as Cohen continues to scratch the back of his head.

“You hungry?” Brent asks both of us. Sidling next to me, he takes my hand in his.

Cohen gawks at the place where our fingers connect. “Yeah, I could use something to eat.” He makes his way toward the bar in the open kitchen. 

“I’m good, but I’d like to freshen up in the bathroom,” I say, turning to Brent. “Can you tell me where it is?”

“I’ll show you.” He drops my hand, steps behind me, and picks up my bag from the floor. “You can use the one in my bedroom.”

I follow Brent down a short hallway, passing a small bathroom and what appears to be the spare room, before coming to the master bedroom at the end of the hall.

Muted beige walls are the backdrop to the main bedroom decorated with black-and-white photographs of buildings and bridges. The bed is made and covered with a cream-and-charcoal duvet. The whole space is clean and sparse, and it feels nothing like the Brent I knew. 

He sets my bag down on the bed and then switches on the light, illuminating the bathroom. “Here you go,” he says. 

“Thanks.” With trepidation, I slowly walk to the sliding glass door, similar to the one in the living area, and I look out over the ocean. “Your place is really nice.”

“Thanks.” He leans his shoulder against the bathroom doorframe. “The realtor picked it out before I returned to the States. This one came furnished, so it made the choice easy.”

“How long have you been here?”

“A little over a year.”

I nod my head. 

Brent is silent for a moment, and then he makes his way to exit the bedroom. “I’ll be in the living room. Take your time. Use anything you need.”

“Thanks.”

He steps into the hallway and leaves me alone in the crisp, stark room. I open my bag and pull out two shirts, a dress, and a pair of shoes. Finding the closet, I hang my clothes to let them air out next to Brent’s. My fingers, completely out of my control, run along the fabrics of his garments, greeting the long-lost friends that I’ve never met.

Closing the closet door, I pick up my shoes and place them next to the upholstered chair sitting in the corner. Near there, on the bedside table, lies a photograph of me from some time ago.

I didn’t know this existed
.

This must be one of the many he took with his phone that I never saw. Surely, I was pregnant at the time because there’s no other explanation as to why I would have a pillow shoved up my shirt, pretending to have a gigantic pregnant stomach, while balancing a pint of ice cream on top of it. Most notably though is the expression on my face. I had a glow I didn’t even know I was capable of producing.

This is what happiness looks like. 

Obviously, I was imagining what I would look like when I reached full-term pregnancy. In reality, I never found out, though. The picture represents a lot of things—lost time, lost hope, and a lost life.

I place the image back on the table and head into the bathroom to freshen up. The space is filled with granite and marble all along the sink and floor, a standard tub, and a large shower enclosed by a glass door.