One Step Away (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 1) (24 page)

In a perverse sort of way, Alex understood
the theory, but he didn’t agree with it. How could he encourage her
to feel a tighter connection with him by hurting her feelings? And
recalling how Marisa looked at him, so dispirited, he felt horrible
for admitting…the truth. But isn’t that what friends did? Divulged
the truth with great delicacy? After all, he didn’t intend to hurt
her.

“Trust me, when she—”

“You keep saying that. I want a
relationship, not sex. Why am I listening to someone who screws
women left and right, then leaves them and starts all over again?
What does that have to do with a committed relationship? Katrina
broke your heart, when was it: ten years ago? And you go around
doing the same thing day after day to every woman you sleep
with.”

“I don’t break their hearts. They barely
know me. Look, women know where they stand with me. I don’t promise
something I can’t give. I’m honest.”

“If you’re as good in the sack as you think
you are, don’t you think these women might want something more? You
said it yourself; they respond to their emotions. If they enjoyed
talking with you enough to have sex with you, don’t you think
they’d want to get to know you?”

Damon kept his gaze on his empty coffee cup.
His jaw muscles strained against his cheeks from gritting his teeth
so hard.

“Don’t you have any feelings?” Alex
asked.

Damon didn’t respond.

“I guess Katrina took them when she stole
your heart.”

He spun around, grabbed Alex by the shirt,
half-lifting him up before shoving him against the counter. Eyes
popping wide with rage, Damon said, “You asked me for help,
remember? So I’m helping you.”

An interesting thought struck Alex: his
friend had attacked him without hesitation, and although Alex’s
heart pounded, it didn’t beat as quickly as when Brad had
confronted him. He couldn’t determine if the reason hinged on the
fact that having been attacked in martial arts class numerous
times, he felt more confident and in control while handling an
assault, or whether it was because he knew that Damon wouldn’t
throw a punch.

Besides, Alex got the impression that his
friend had little control in his life, and leaving each woman after
spending the night with her counted as a form of not only
controlling himself, but others as well. And by grabbing hold of
Alex, he was acting on this need yet again.

“You wanted to turn me into you,” Alex said,
hitting a nerve that felt true. “That’s what this is all about,
isn’t it? So you could have a wingman. Because if I joined in,
you’d feel better about yourself. You thought if we went out each
night looking to hook up with women, you wouldn’t feel so bad about
manipulating them.”

Damon didn’t look away from Alex but
released him and took a half-step back. “You’re not who I thought
you were.” He looked around the diner, glancing at all of the faces
that had looked up from their meals to give him their undivided
attention. He recoiled from so much attention.

“No,” Alex shot back. “I’m exactly who you
think I am.”

Damon turned and headed for the door.

Alex, surprised to see his friend hurry
away, couldn’t pinpoint if Damon had left because he felt
uncomfortable with so many eyes on him or because he was afraid to
confront the fact that having broken up with Katrina all those
years ago still affected him.

Just as he exited the building, Kelsey
pushed open the swinging doors, entering the public area of the
restaurant from the kitchen area holding a scalding pot of coffee,
glancing every which way. An orange Chicago Bears cap captured her
blond hair, and she wore a white Brian Urlacher jersey. She wiped
her hands on the clean white apron tied around her waist. She
spotted Alex and walked over to him. “Were you starting a fight?
Nina told me two guys were getting into it out here.”

“No.”

“Liar,” said an elderly man who squinted to
read a newspaper even though he placed it only inches from his
spectacles. The paper shook in his hands, indicating that he
suffered from Parkinson’s disease. “Got my coffee?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Steinmetz.” She poured
black coffee into his empty cup.

Alex sat a few stools down, wondering how
the man had figured out that Kelsey had appeared, since the paper
blocked him from seeing anyone who might approach the counter from
the back room.

Kelsey moved down the counter and stopped
opposite her brother. “Fighting in my joint?”

“The boy wasn’t in any danger,” said Mr.
Steinmetz, still reading from the paper. “He could handle
himself.”

Kelsey regarded her customer with a smirk
before returning the coffee pot to its maker then went back to
Alex. “He’s one smart fella.”

“Nope, just observant, young lady.” He
gnawed on the inner lining of his cheek.

Kelsey grabbed a spray bottle and squirted a
wide area along the counter top then grabbed the black washcloth
hitched to the side of her apron and smeared off bread crumbs and
some greasy residue. “You going to Lauren’s Halloween bash on
Friday? It’s a week or so early, but there’s still supposed to be
like 80 people there. Maybe more.”

“I wanted to go as Daredevil, but the
costume cost too much.” He thought the whole martial-arts/fighting
for justice ideal would have worked well considering his background
with Hapkido and serving the public. “But finding a Batman costume
was easier and cheaper.” Besides, Batman probably considered
himself a public servant, rather than a vigilante. He also worked
out and knew martial arts, so the costume seemed symbolic.

Superhero comic books had helped Alex learn
to read, and growing up he had identified with Spider-man,
Daredevil, Captain America, and Batman more than any other heroes.
Of course, they were all crime-fighters, but just as important,
they wore masks, because in one way or another, they felt awkward
in their own skin. Growing up, Alex felt unpopular (Spider-man),
invisible (Daredevil – due to his blindness), weak (Steve Rogers
before he became Captain America), and unable to live up to his
father’s standards (Batman).

“George Clooney, cod-piece Batman?” Kelsey
asked. “Or Michael Keaton’s Batman? Hey, what about Christian
Bale’s Batman?”

“None of them. I’m going vintage—Adam West’s
Batman.”

“The cheesy 1960s TV show?” She roared with
laughter. “You’ll be the hit of the party.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, grinning. “To be made fun
of. Actually, I’m going Michael Keaton style. In my opinion, it’s a
more badass costume than Christian Bale’s. It’s sleeker. More
chiseled.”

“I disagree. Christian Bale’s hotter.”

“I didn’t say anything about being hot. His
costume is too drab. There’s no personality there. I’m talking
about the costume and how it reflects upon the man. And I’m more of
a Michael Keaton than a Christian Bale. More insightful than
brooding.”

“That makes sense. I think I’d have a better
conversation with Keaton’s Bruce Wayne. But something about
Christian Bale – that arrogant, unapproachable, tortured soul kind
of thing really gets to me. I’d like to make him a grilled cheese
sandwich and a bowl of soup. Afterwards, I’d show him the
restorative powers of a passionate woman.” She unveiled a dreamy
smile, looking off in the distance, fantasizing about what would
probably happen after he finished his meal.

“Thank God,” Alex said, exhaling with
relief. “Glad I won’t be rocking the Christian Bale costume. How
about you? Who are you going as?”

“Who else? Buffy. It’ll be so easy. She
doesn’t wear a set outfit. I can just walk around with a wooden
stake all night. Dab on some make-up for dried blood, maybe add a
bruise from fighting vampires in the cemetery, and I’m good. Plus,
I get to jab people with Mr. Pointy – preferably some good-looking
guys. You and Marisa could be part of my Scooby Gang. You’d be a
good substitute for Xander, and Marisa could be Willow.”

“You’d be happy to live in that TV show,
wouldn’t you?”

“Hell, yeah. I could operate the Doublemeat
Palace. But I’m going as Buffy because no other woman embraces
female empowerment better than the Slayer. She could beat the tar
out of Wonder Woman. She could kick her ass using puns alone.” She
looked contemplative. “Plus, I could get Spike.”

“You already said you’re bringing a
stake.”

“No, Spike is a character. He’s way hotter
than Angel.” Noticing that she’d lost her brother with the
intricate dynamics of her favorite show, she snapped the rag at her
brother. “What’s this I hear about riding a hog?”

“And here I thought women hated to be called
overweight.”

She flipped the cloth over her left
shoulder. “I’m serious. You bought a bike? Why? Why didn’t you tell
me? Or Dad?”

Alex could spend half an hour justifying the
purchase, but because Kelsey wouldn’t believe him or let him off
the hook no matter how many ways he tried to explain himself, he
decided to sum it up with just a few words. “It’s just something I
needed to do.”

Kelsey looked at him with great deliberation
as she touched his arm. “Hey, are you okay?”

Looking down, touched by her concern, Alex
nodded. “I’m getting there. Slowly.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“I need to take this journey on my own.”

She held his gaze. “Okay. But I’m here for
you. You know that, right? Forever and always.” She grinned.

Alex felt lucky to have such a devoted
sibling. He expressed that sentiment through a half-smile.

“All right,” she said, scanning the area.
“I’ve gotta get back to work. I’ll see you Friday night at the
party.”

Just as he turned away from the counter, the
elderly man with Parkinson’s cleared his throat, his eyes still
examining the paper. “You’ve got good friends.”

Unsure if Mr. Steinmetz directed the comment
at him, Alex looked to see if the man had spoken to another
customer. But none were close enough to hear the statement. “I’m
lucky, I guess.”

“I’d trust the young man who roughed you
up.” He licked his thumb and turned the page. Due to his jittering
fingers, it took a few moments for him to accomplish the task.

Alex, always one to seek wisdom from those
with more experience and more years under their belts, approached
him. “It feels wrong.”

“That’s why it’s right.” He barely craned
his neck and settled sincere but bloodshot eyes on him. “If you
love her, you’ll trust your friend.” He waved a finger that looked
like a withered branch hanging from a dying tree. “If you made her
cry, don’t you think she’ll want to see you sooner than later?”

“I guess.”

He raised his eyes. “If you’re her friend,
you won’t need to guess. And if you want to be more than her
friend, you’ll know.” With that, he pivoted back to the front of
the counter and grunted again. Obviously, their short conversation
had ended.

Mr. Steinmetz’s advice triggered a positive
response in Alex’s mind. He got up from the stool and stepped over
to him. Thanking him, however, felt too sappy. Instead, he knocked
on the counter to get the man’s attention then nodded his head in
gratitude. Now he had to find out if there was any truth to the
man’s recommendation.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

After looking out the peephole and seeing
Alex standing solemnly on her front porch, Marisa debated whether
or not she should pretend to be elsewhere. She had to admit,
however, that he hadn’t intended to hurt her feelings.

He had told the truth. And it only hurt
because she saw the validity of his remarks. Put in that light, how
could she punish him for verifying what she’d always suspected but
never knew? If anything, she should be grateful that he cared for
her enough to have told her such a hard truth. It would allow her
to work on becoming a better friend.

She opened the door and stood in the
doorway, staring at her best friend.

“Hi,” he said. “What I said earlier…I didn’t
mean to hurt you. Can we talk?” Unlike the past, where he would
have looked at her and then glanced away, Alex looked right into
her eyes.

Marisa had always figured that his inability
to meet her gaze hinged on a lack of self-esteem. It reminded her
of a little boy who sought permission before making any decision.
With great effort (because it really annoyed her), she’d learned to
disregard it. But now, his eyes didn’t waver. He looked confident.
He looked like a man who didn’t seek permission but gave it. She
really liked that attribute. But once again, it made her wonder how
he’d managed to overcome that affliction in just a few weeks’ time.
She stepped aside, welcoming him inside.

Alex entered her apartment. Light shone
through the opened blinds. An episode of
Modern Family
played on the flat screen across the room. He spotted a red gown
with gold-flecked seems in a long, transparent bag lying against
her leather recliner. “Who are you going as?”

“Cleopatra. Brad is going as Mark
Antony.”

“Brad wearing a toga?” he asked with a
smirk. “That’s worth the price of admission.”

“He’ll be wearing leather and battle
garb.”

“Damn. I wish I had a camera. I would have
snapped a picture of him in a toga.”

She hadn’t expected him to take the news so
trivially. After all, he and Brad almost got into a fight a few
weeks ago. If anything, she expected him to look dour. “Really?
You’d take a picture of him?”

“Then I’d have it developed – why pay for a
dartboard?”

At least she knew he wasn’t acting just to
pacify her. “Would you like something to drink? I’ve got lemonade
and orange juice.”

“How about Diet Coke – and some hard
stuff?”

She smiled. “You read my mind.” Then she
crossed the dining room, heading for the kitchenette.