Some Sort of Happy (Skylar and Sebastian): A Happy Crazy Love Novel (12 page)

Maybe not, since she thought I might be mad that she’d kissed me. Mad, for fuck’s sake. The only thing that made me mad about it was that I hadn’t kissed her back. I hadn’t told her how much I liked it, how much I’d wanted to do it again before she got out of the truck, how many times I’d imagined kissing her back when she barely knew I existed—and how much better the real thing was. It had taken some serious fortitude not to yell “CHECK, PLEASE,” grab her by the hand, and run out of there so I could take her back to the cabin and kiss her properly. Lavishly. Thoroughly.

How long had it been since I’d had a woman stretched out beneath me, moaning with pleasure while I devoured every inch of her skin? And Skylar’s skin looked so delicious. I bet it would feel like satin under my tongue. Taste like cherries and vanilla ice cream.

Fuck, I was hard again.

And she knew things about me. She knew about New York, or at least the bare bones of it, and she’d still asked me out.

As I drove the long, dark highway up the center of the peninsula, her SUV ahead of me, I found myself wishing again that things were different. No, that I was different. That I had something to offer her. Sure, there would be good days, like this one. And for a while, maybe the good days would outweigh the bad, or maybe she’d find the good days worth the bad. But that wouldn’t last.

So when Skylar turned off 37 onto the road leading to her parents’ farm, I didn’t follow her like I wanted to. I didn’t pull up next to her in the dark, get out of the truck and wait for her to ask me what I was doing there. I didn’t grab her and crush my mouth to hers without saying a word. I didn’t hold her body close to mine and fiercely whisper how much it meant that she was willing to try.

But I wanted to.

So badly it hurt.

• • •

When I got home, the cabin seemed particularly dark and empty. I didn’t feel like mindless television, and the internet would only depress me, so I picked up a book my dad had given me recently, sat on the couch and tried to read. But I couldn’t focus on the story—the silence was smothering me tonight. Throwing my jacket on, I walked outside and unloaded the Adirondack chairs from the back of my truck. But once I’d lugged the boxes over to the patio, I didn’t feel like putting them together. Instead, I left them there and wandered down to the dock, grateful for the nighttime noise of the crickets and owls, the water lapping softly against the rocky shore.

What was Skylar doing right now? Sleeping? Watching TV? Or did she like to read at night like I did? Maybe she’d felt industrious when she got home and was attaching her bin pulls to the kitchen cupboards. I wish I was there to help her. I should have offered. I didn’t even have her number to call her again. Why hadn’t I asked her for it?

After a few minutes, I went back inside and sank onto the couch, feeling so lonely and sad I did something I hadn’t done in months. I picked up my phone and called Diana.

As always, it went to voicemail.

“This is Diana. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

“Hey…it’s me.” I closed my eyes. “I know it’s been a while. But I was thinking about you and thought I’d try to reach out. I guess you’re still not ready to talk to me, and that’s OK. I just wanted to let you know that you were on my mind and I hope you’re doing well. And…I’m sorry. I know I’ve said that a million times, but I am. I wish I could go back and do it all differently. Anyway. Goodnight.”

I ended the call, feeling, as I always did after calling Diana, a mixture of guilt and disgust with myself. I should delete her number and quit bothering her.

I was about to do just that when it vibrated in my hand.

It was Diana’s number.

Fuck. She’d never actually returned a call. Now what? Grimacing, I pressed Accept. I owed her at least that much.

“Diana?”

A long pause. “Hi.”

“How are you?”

“Fine. I…heard your message just now.”

I closed my eyes. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I shouldn’t call you.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” She sighed. “But I guess if I really wanted it to stop, I’d have changed my number by now.”

“I’ve often wondered why you haven’t.”

“I don’t know. I must like the reminders you’re doing OK.” She paused. “Are you?”

I answered semi-truthfully. “Mostly. What about you?”

“I’m OK.”

“Still in New York?”

“Yes.” She was silent again, and I worried she was crying. Fucking hell, had I not caused this woman enough pain? “Why did you call tonight?” she finally asked, and I heard the struggle in her voice.

To punish myself.
“To apologize, I guess.”

“You can stop doing that. I’ve gotten all your messages.”

“Does that mean you forgive me?”

She didn’t answer right away. “For what, Sebastian?”

Something twisted in my gut.
Proposing when I wasn’t sure. Shutting you out. Refusing sex. Not making time for therapy. Not taking the meds. Overdoing alcohol. Being late for everything. Lying to you. Calling off the wedding. Breaking your heart.

The list was so endless I couldn’t even begin.

“Does my forgiveness even matter anymore?”

I swallowed. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why?” I parroted, although it was a fair question. Diana and I were over, after all. But I hated the thought that she’d resent me for the rest of her life. I deserved it, but deep down inside, I felt like if she told me that she was able to let it go and move on, that she was happy again in spite of the pain I’d caused, then maybe it would mean that I deserved some happiness too. That I wouldn’t have to punish myself forever. “I don’t know. It just feels right to ask for it.”

“God, Sebastian. That apology sucked.”

I winced, but I also smiled a little. It reminded me of something Skylar would say. “Yeah. You know me. Not great with words.”

“That’s not true. You just don’t trust yourself to say what’s on your mind.”

Again, I thought of Skylar. “I suppose you’re right. Maybe I should work on that.”

“Are you going to therapy?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And you’re back in Michigan?”

“Yes. I built a cabin on the property I own. Where I tried to make you go camping that time, remember?”

“Oh, God. That experience still haunts me.”

I imagined her shuddering, the shake of her narrow shoulders. “Yes, city girl. You’d hate it.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter anymore. You can camp out in the woods all you want now. I’ll be here in my apartment with my doorman out front. And if I feel like flying off to Rome or Paris for a romantic vacation with my boyfriend, I can do it.”

There it was—the dig at me for being scared to fly. She never did miss an opportunity. “Sounds perfect for you.”

“It is.” She was quiet a moment. “Are you dating?”

I paused. “No.”

“Why the hesitation?”

“I don’t know. It feels weird to talk about it with you. And I’m not really dating anyone. I met someone recently, but—”

“Who is she?” she asked quickly.

“No one you’d know. Just someone I went to school with.”

“Oh. She’s from there?”

“Yeah.” On the off chance that Diana knew Skylar from that reality show, I decided to change the subject. “Anyway, it’s nothing. I barely know her.” The conversation was starting to feel a little strange, so I decided to end it. “Well, thanks for calling me back. I appreciate it. And…it’s good to talk to you.” That was true. Her low, smoky voice didn’t have the power over me it once had, but I felt relief that we were finally able to have a civil conversation. And I was glad she seemed well. Maybe I hadn’t done irreparable harm.

But she didn’t hang up. “Can I ask you a question, Sebastian?”

Oh shit. “OK.”

“Why did you propose? We could have just broken up if you didn’t love me enough.”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. Fuck.
I never should have said that to her.
“I told you. I was trying to be the person you wanted me to be.”

“So it was my fault.” A hard edge to her tone now.

“No. None of it was. I’ve told you that too. I’ll take all the blame.”

“I loved you. I was willing to put up with all your shit. And you gave up on me. On us. You humiliated me.”

“I know.” That thought haunted me. Diana had loved me, even with all the strange quirks. What if I never had that again? Even if I hadn’t been madly in love with her, maybe I should have tried harder to make it work. “You deserved better.”

“Damn right I did,” she said bitterly. “We had a perfect wedding planned, Sebastian. A perfect life.”

No, we didn’t. Not for me. That life in New York… The eighty hour work weeks, the all-nighters, the tedious grunt work, the insane deadlines, the constant pressure to bill, the competitive social scene, the pressure to constantly work more, earn more, have more. You loved all that. But it was tearing me apart.

“I should go.” I ended the call without saying anything else and went to bed, upset that I’d made the call in the first place. What the hell did I expect? I’d called off the wedding with six months to go, told her she wasn’t the one—why should she forgive me?

Sometimes I wondered if I’d made the wrong decision…maybe I had loved her enough and didn’t know it. Maybe I should have tried harder to live with the doubt. Maybe I should be married to her right now.

But it wasn’t Diana I missed when I got between the sheets that night. It wasn’t her body I wanted next to mine as I slipped my hard, swollen flesh through my fist. It wasn’t her smile or her voice or her laugh or her eyes or her mouth I thought about at the moment of agonizing, sublime relief.

It was Skylar’s.

And even though I knew I was no good for her, I also knew I wanted her too much to stay away.

I had the following day off from Coffee Darling, and I went to bed relishing the thought of sleeping in. But, wouldn’t you know it, my body clock was used to waking up early now, and my eyes opened at six and refused to stay closed again. Oh well. I swung my legs over the side of my bed. Maybe I’ll get a nap in later.
Might as well get up and get some things done.

By nine, I’d attached all the bin pulls to the kitchen cupboards—laughing to myself when I recalled all the screw jokes from last night—taped off and primed a bathroom, and thought about Sebastian approximately one million times. Despite the slightly awkward ending, the spontaneous date had been a lot of fun.

Besides being handsome, Sebastian was a great listener and he made me laugh. I loved how open he’d been about his OCD, how honestly and self-deprecatingly he’d told me what it was like. My heart ached for him and how tough it must have been all those years before getting treatment, especially without the support of friends. And every time I thought about the beautiful, sad words he’d written about me, I got chills.

He’d said he wasn’t easy to get to know, and I’d meant it when I said I was willing to try.

Would he let me?

While the primer dried, I decided to get started refinishing an old bookshelf I’d found in my parents’ attic. My mother helped me carry it out to the driveway, where I’d laid newspapers on the ground.