Next to You (Life) (7 page)

Chapter 12

T
he undisputed decision
to talk some sense into her comes with the information that she can receive visitors. A fact no one informed me of since she arrived, then again, I never asked. There was little or no interest for me to ever see her again. Before heading to see Rebecca, Dr. Von Arx shows us the facilities. Therapy rooms with conventional living room furniture, gym, pool, heat room for yoga, meditation room, a sample room with simple bedroom furniture—desk, bed, nightstands, closet and bathroom.

Outside is the view of a lake, green areas and Dr. Von Arx talks about a building nearby with indoor tennis and basketball courts; along with a hiking trail. One we can’t visit due to the rain. The kitchen facilities, dining room and music room are on the west side of the building. We head to the third story where he shows us the isolation rooms—where Becca stays. The art and music room, and finally on a fourth story is the green house. He gives me instructions on where to go and how to open the door; it has a trick to it.

“At the moment, Miss Trent is in there,” the doctor says. “Most of the patients choose to visit the city during their free time, but she prefers to stay. Knitting or writing… sometimes reading. Shopping isn’t on the top of her list of things to do. And she says she’s seen most of the city.”

That’s Becca for you. Only if something really takes her breath away, will she go to the mall, or when she needs to buy presents. Then the girl can spend an entire day swiping her credit card and signing her name like it is a sport. Sometimes she even uses the emergency card I gave her for that specific reason, to treat others. I pay both, because that’s what my money is for, to make her happy.

I stay behind, to visit with Becca, while Drew and the good doctor head back to his office to discuss a few more things about her health.

The door gives in immediately, opening on the first try. As the sign reads, I close it behind me. Plants and lots of flowers, including tulips, are spread throughout the house. Red, white, yellow and orange don’t really meet what a pink tulip means to Becca. She believes they bring warmth and hope. When I gave her some during the winter months, she believed they sprinkled some sunshine into her day. As I take in the entire room, and add everything I’ve seen during the tour, things seem to take on a different perspective. It pisses me off that before today, it hadn’t been clear to me. I’m supposed to know what she needs, that is part of taking care of her and I failed her.

This is the perfect place for her to find herself… and my therapist said it right:

“You’re one person, trained to handle business acquisitions and run an entire company. None of your knowledge has to do with childhood traumas and PTSD.”

Though, now there’s a part of me that fears she won’t come back to me the way she was before she began remembering everything. It contradicts what my heart knows, that this is what will pull her through all that shit and put her back together. It could’ve been my selfishness that prevented me from accepting that she required more than just me. Before stepping forward and searching for her, I rub my face and I pray that I do the right thing for her.

Right in the corner of the greenhouse, on a rustic looking wooden bench she sits with her knees folded, a pad on her lap, where she writes. Those long brown locks are absent; she tied them into a thick braid falling down her side, though there are a few loose strands playing around her face and behind her ear. From where I stand I can hear that mind of hers working overtime while communicating with whoever is the recipient of the letter. She twists her mouth from one side to the other and then her teeth play with her lower lip. Everything about her is familiar, each movement. The way she chews the pen because there’s a precise word she wants to use, it’s on the tip of her tongue but… she can’t remember it. For years I have studied her, to understand what makes her who she is… except not everything came out during my research.

Another minute or two pass since my arrival without making a move. There’s no sound coming from her, and I wonder how long it will take her to notice me; if she’ll even sense my presence or if that connection we once shared has been broken beyond repair. Becca wears her headphones, surely listening to whatever playlist she created to get her in a certain mood. I should announce myself, but I don’t because watching her is one of my favorite activities in the world—better than watching the market crash as I predicted or buying a company and then slicing it in pieces for profit. Becca’s profile is breathtaking. She’s one of those girls who doesn’t know she is beautiful. She has long thick eyelashes, big brown eyes that accentuate the delicate features of her face, a small straight-edged nose and small heart shaped lips. Everything about Becca is perfect for me. When did I notice her? It’s complicated.

The first time we met was when her mother and Ty’s father got married. She was sitting on her porch with a child she babysat and looked at us with those big brown eyes. Cute, petite girl. I noticed she was a foot shorter than me with long hair, she decided to fly to the back of the house and avoid us. She wore jeans and a t-shirt. It wasn’t then, but that was the moment when our lives intertwined. Our friendship survived our differences and we learned to appreciate each other. Slowly, the small girl spread her magical love and captured me. Around Tyler’s wedding I realized she wasn’t a little girl, maybe it was the dress that accentuated her curves or… I don’t know, but I chided myself for being attracted to an underage girl—my best friend. If someone walked by right now and asked me when I fell in love with her, my answer is simple. I don’t know.

Definitely I was a goner by the time we first visited New York and skated in front of Rockefeller Center. She almost fell, but I captured her and as she looked toward the sky, her eyes caught mine. I knew right in that moment that there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her.

Is that love, was that love… do I still feel the same? The better question comes in the form of who is she and how much has she changed? There are things about myself I can change, but the control… that one is not negotiable. She fought me at every turn while her world was coming down. Though, if she gives me that power back, the responsibility to know what she needs and wants, will come hand in hand. That was one obligation I broke time and again for my convenience, and that I will have to change.

Chapter 13

“
A
part of me
knew you were here,” Becca says taking off the headphones and placing the iPod inside a knitted purse. “Your overlord presence is strong, Mr. Brightmore.” She lifts her head, as her hand stops scribbling. The corners of her lips effortlessly lift, as her eyes brighten—
my smile is back.
“Those ghost powers of yours should be illegal.” She scrunches her nose and takes a deep breath then her gaze travels from the top of my head all the way to my shoes. “You should be illegal, even with a simple pair of jeans and a plain crew neck sweater you look like someone dragged you out of a magazine shoot for an online catalog called
Hotties’R’us
.” That makes me chuckle and take a couple of steps to where she is. “How are you, Danny?”

I close the distance and open my arms, in an instant she places the stuff she holds on the bench and raises from it, walking to where I stand. In one movement I clutch her to my body. Finally I hear the beating of her heart and it is exactly the same as I remember, in tune with mine.

“I missed you,” she mumbles and I lift her off the ground, her hands going to the back of my neck. We don’t move from that position for a few seconds, but the logical side of my brain reminds me that my visit isn’t about cuddling her, no, it’s about talking things through.

“Ready to get down?” I ask her because her grasp tightens as I try to set her feet back on the ground. Her head shakes and I’m glad because my body isn’t ready to let her go yet. “I missed you too, by the way.”

“Not to be unhospitable,” she says, while her head settles in the crook of my neck. “But why are you here?”

“For pink hugs and to take you home,” I say in a casual tone, as if telling her about the weather in the United States. She stiffens with the latter. “Unless you’re not ready, and if that’s the case, maybe you can make me understand why. Then there’s the matter of you knitting things. Buddy is not liking it very much. He says you need to bake for him.”

Becca hugs my waist with her legs and untangles her arms from my neck. She grabs my arms lightly while looking at me. “The cooking lessons here aren’t that great and of course my kitchen time is minimal, add the lack of ingredients and his requests are impossible. Tell him that demanding letters with caps and threats won’t get him much.”

All the muscles in my face tighten and a frown comes immediately. “Threats?”

“He’ll come and kidnap me.” She laughs and I notice her eyes holding little to no sadness. “How upset are you, Danny?” The concern is palpable in her eyes and I find some fear with it.

“Honestly?” That’s a complicated question, with an answer I need to search thoroughly to convey the correct message. Opening the channels of communication and earning each other’s trust are among the things my counselor recommended. “Today?” She nods. “You know the answer, Princess. I doubt you’d be attached to me like a koala if I was upset. Before… what do you think?” Before getting into something like: I was so mad,
I torched a few of your belongings, including your car,
she jumps into the conversation.

“They think I’m ready to leave,” Becca says not addressing her own question or waiting for any further explanation. Then she stares at me. “But I feel like I’m not—almost—but not where I want to be. If I head me home today, the chances of me crashing work against… me—
us
.” A part of me feels foolish, since my chest swells by the recognition of an ‘us’. Even when at this moment that thing isn’t real or palpable—Utopia might be more real than our romantic relationship. “There are a few things I want to work on, before leaving. Boston—”

“Boston is over, baby,” I cut her off. Becca’s eyes aren’t haunted, that part of her appears to be gone. “You told me long before graduating, and I should’ve listened to your needs; for that I apologize. Not to pressure you, but how long do you think you need. Your message saying not winter means before December twenty first… my birthday is on Nov—“

“Don’t you think I know, I wouldn’t miss it.” She moves her arms toward my neck and then kisses my cheek. “You can visit me and we can celebrate. Or… for you I can runaway for the weekend.”

“Why didn’t you mention you were allowed visitors before, Becca?”

Her eye twitches, a playful smile appears and then she rolls her eyes. “Because you would have come all angry if I told you before.” That doesn’t explain much, so I tilt my head and twist my lips waiting for more than that. “I knew you’d find out when you were ready to be… civilized about my departure, Danny. Usually you do radical things when you’re upset on a personal level, and never stop and think much… hence you’d try to get ahold of me via Randy, instead of using the front door. Am I wrong?”

I shake my head and refrain myself from kissing her nose, we’re not there yet, are we?

“While you’re here then, can I get some of those visitations?” I began to negotiate how the next few weeks will pan out. “Daily deliveries with Tony.”

“Blond boy?” Becca asks, I nod. “How often are you going to visit me, Danny? You can’t move to Geneva… though I miss you and I want to see you often, I still require a bit of space.” She giggles before continuing, “Yes, I know you very well. Let’s visit her, daily… that’s not how the visitation system works. Though, Daniel Brightmore is capable of bypassing any and all rules, don’t do it, please.”

“Every other weekend.” Becca wrinkles her nose when I say it, then nods. Before I continue the conversation I approach the bench and sit, setting her next to me. “There’s a world that needs conquering, which means I can’t move here—permanently.”

Not exactly, taking over the world isn’t any longer one of my goals. Brightmore Limited is relocating, along with his owner and my key employees. My priorities took a one eighty change. Through the years I hired the best on each venture I have. If I leave the company working on autopilot everything would be a smooth sail, not that I’ll be stepping down. At least until Becca and I make a decision on where and how we’ll proceed, she’s my priority—my life.

“But you’ll buy a place or something.” She rests her head on my side and I sneak my arm around her back. “Your ski resort is only a couple of hours from here, isn’t it?” I nod, and say nothing because as I turn to where she had left the path, the letter she was writing when I arrived caught my eye because it had a peculiar header, Danny. “That’s not yours, Brightmore.”

“My name is there.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean you should read it.”

Danny:

I’m working a bit on us. Understanding why you’d be interested in me, when you can have anyone. There’s a part I get, we have this bond we forged since… fill the blank. Nine years, six… it’s hard to pinpoint when we became really us. Either way, I get it. Though physically you’re perfect and have all this money. It’s what’s inside that matters to me, what I love the most; and that might be your take as well. Sometimes you know me better than I know myself, you know the person that I am and love me with warts and all. The good, the bad, the stupid and the smart. With that said; there’s still a matter of my lack of experience. You have so much. One night stands, first dates, things I never dare to think of having. Could I do casual sex? It makes me wonder if I’d ever miss them. Then again, I’m not sure if you’ll take me back or if we’re over.

I stop, because this letter has crazy written all over it, Becca isn’t that kind of girl. There are two main categories women fall into; relationship material and non-relationship material. Then there are subcategories and we have a wide range of places where to catalog their species. She’s a relationship girl, the one you take home to your parents—if you have them—the one you cuddle with after sex and definitely think about buying her
the ring.
Casual sex… one night stands, they wouldn’t work with her.

“You’re not a one night, casual sex kind of woman.” Becca groans. “You wouldn’t miss it, if you ever did it; you would want the guy to cuddle with you after sex and that’s breaking protocol. Then there’s the part where you like to talk before sleeping about your feelings and… you can’t miss—”

“You don’t know that.” She snuggles closer… proving my point. She’s a hugger, loves human contact and… I take a deep breath because she’s impossible when some foolish idea gets inside her head. “I’ve changed.”

“I believe you,” I say, because it’s as clear as water that she is no longer afraid of the wind, the light or any element that surrounds her. She’s not shivering with the simple thought of having to take about 12-20 breaths per minute and end up with an anxiety attack because she can’t control it. “But you didn’t change the essence of who you are, did you? Are you going to tell me that coming here cured you from your chocoholic ways?” Becca grumbles. “My point exactly. But if you go out and want to make out with strangers, be my guest.”

“Well… not like that, but…” Becca huffs and I’m sure if she wasn’t in my arms, she’d be doing an indignant head and hair flip. “I’m not discussing this with you.”

I’m glad,
I want to tell her because the pure thought of Becca kissing another man makes me want to crush something—or set another car on fire. Without any further exchange with her, I continue reading the letter.

Did I break us? Then there’s the part where I might’ve changed, you might dislike me for… what a mess? If only I had been brave enough to… not sure what. Do I regret being here? No, only the part where I hurt you with my departure. Ever since your letters began to reflect that you care, the nightmares have diminished. My therapists don’t get it, but…

“What is it, Becca?” I urge her to tell me what she was about to write. All I get is a shrug, nothing more from her. “You broke us, Bex. The pieces of what we were are so tiny, I doubt we’ll be able to find all of them and put them back together the way they used to be. However, if we play our cards right… maybe at the end of your journey something better… perfect, will be waiting for us. Slowly, at a pace where we both know what we’re getting into and we can discover each other as if it was the first time.”

“Perfect?” She snorts. “You expect flawless, that’s light years from today. With the risk of taking things into a pity—”

“Not perfect,” I interject. “Our kind of perfect, baby.”

Not once has anyone ever referred to me as a patient man. Instant gratification is the name of my game, however, that never applied to Becca. Not until my fear of losing her came crashing down on me, right when that asshole slammed into her, back in Aspen. That was the worst moment of my life. I decided to stop giving her space and dragged her into my world by force. I then made several mistakes, second guessing my every move while Becca was falling apart. The knowledge of the fatal night haunted me and didn’t let me think clearly. All the changes to her personality after the deaths of Ian and Lisa conveyed a message; red alerts telling me to do something more than just being there. Seek help, counseling at the least for the trauma she suffered at seeing her childhood friend shoot himself.

Discovering what the asshole did to her the weekend of Thanksgiving, plus the entire story of how they both ended up lifeless on the floor of Becca’s room with their brains splattered around the walls and furniture… that tormented me. It plagued my every move. How was I supposed to handle it, or behave toward her… be there when I didn’t do that before? Worse, the need of vengeance at times made me do stupid things, like leaving her hurt in the middle of the night after another man tried to touch her. All of them big no’s, I have learned through the past few months with my counselor.

“Great, you’re pissed at me again,” Becca says She has integrated a rage sensor. “What is it, me not going back today, what I just said or…? Fill in the blank please, I hate when your jaw clenches and you keep everything inside, brushing me off—it makes me feel insignificant.”

“Don’t hold back,” my edgy tone barely comes off as calm and I shake my head, trying to do the same with the turmoil that threatens to crash this reunion. “I’m not upset, only frustrated. You know how much I like to skip the boring or sad parts of the movies and get to the moment where everyone is happy.”

Becca purses her lips and I know she’s putting that mind of hers to work to create some kind of drama or trying to fix world hunger while also deciding what will happen to us next. I can see us breaking up for good because of our mutual frustration. I’m all worked up, she’s all worked up and there’s no way I’ll let this go to hell because neither one of us is ready to discuss our situation.

“We could stay here all day,” I take a couple of deep breaths, “looking for all the answers and they won’t come to us. Not today, or next month. Rome wasn’t built in one day, just like our relationship didn’t happen in the blink of an eye.” I place her head on my chest, next to my heart. “There was a long period between the moment we met and the one where we became best friends. Our personalities didn’t mesh right away, nor did we become this strange entity that miraculously survived for almost nine years with that magical smile you sometimes flash at me.” I kiss the top of her head. “You’re the longest relationship I’ve had with a woman.” I chuckle, because she’s been my only relationship with a woman, period. “Obviously we’re compatible enough to be able to try it again, for now let’s give each other time to heal, as you requested in that ridiculous letter of yours.”

“Ridiculous?” she says indignant and mumbles some nonsense stuff. Though she tries to break free from my hold, I don’t let her. I don’t want to lose this moment yet.

“Crazy.” I brush her jaw with my thumb. “Foolish, borderline rash. The worst letter I’ve ever read in my life.” That’s as far as I get because I don’t want to discuss the letter or what will happen to our relationship. “With all my heart I wish I could come weekly, Princess, but there might be times I won’t be able to come every other week. In advance—”

“I get it, Dan.” She puts her arms around my waist and adjusts herself. Not a great idea, since my body is getting some thoughts of its own. It’s time to multiply, think of crossword words that end with the letter w or better yet recite the Greek alphabet. “No need to explain much, I’m thousands of miles away. When you can, swing by. I’ll be around in the neighborhood and of course my letters will reach you.”