Nothing Like the Movies

Wes

I couldn’t breathe again. My heart was racing, and my breath was coming too fast as it all screamed back at me. This happened sometimes after the nightmares, but this was the first time it was happening in front of somebody else.

Fucking awesome.

“Wes.” Liz’s face was suddenly all I could see as she moved closer. “Eyes on me.”

I nodded and tried to catch my breath.

“Deep breath through your nose,” she said, setting her hands on my chest. “Come on.”

Her eyes became my whole world. I inhaled, feeling her fingertips on my skin, and she nodded. “Good. Now listen to me.”

She moved her hands to my jaw, grabbing my cheeks and pulling my face closer to hers. It was dark, but I saw the shimmer of tears as she spoke loud and slow. “It wasn’t your fault.”

I stared into her eyes, desperate to believe her. Wanting so badly to just let her words manipulate reality and make it all go away.

Her fingers flexed on my skin, squeezing like she was demanding my attention. “I don’t know how you could think that, but it isn’t true.”

“But I said—”

“Wes.” She set her forehead on mine, her tone soothing as her gentle fingers warmed my skin. Her voice was sweet and breathy, a melatonin cloud, as she insisted, “You need to forgive yourself for whatever this is, okay?”

I felt a little lightheaded as I closed my eyes.

I’d never forgive myself.

I opened my eyes and lingered, reveling in Liz’s hands on my face, her forehead on mine. She was right there, with me, my Libby.

I raised my hands and pushed back her hair, sliding all ten fingers into the soft, thick curls that always smelled like freesia. She was watching me with damp eyes, her lips sweet and soft, and the magnitude of my longing was like a punch to the solar plexus.

“Lib,” I whispered, lowering my head and kissing away a tear. I could feel her long, jagged inhalation as I tilted her head with my hands, as I went back for the tear on her other cheek.

My hands were shaking as I slid them lower, so my palms were on her warm throat, my fingers buried underneath the back of her hair. She didn’t move, didn’t speak; we were in slow-motion quicksand, and the only thing I knew was that we were about to kiss. Liz’s eyes dipped down to my mouth, and I was done fighting it.

Need flamed up like sizzling oil on a dancing flame.

Her fingertips tightened on my jaw as I lowered my mouth to hers.

But just as our lips touched, I remembered.

She had a boyfriend.

Why does she have to have a boyfriend?

I wanted to ignore it so damn badly, to put it out of my head and slide into the only thing I’d ever needed. I wanted to forget that everyone and everything existed except for my mouth and Liz Buxbaum.

Especially when those green eyes slid shut.

Every molecule in my body buzzed, and every cell came alive as I felt the softness of her sigh and the offering of her mouth.

My entire existence roared to attention and wanted so damn badly.

Dear Lord, it hurt to want that much.

My heart was pounding in my chest as I forced myself not to be an asshole.

“Thank you, Lib,” I whispered against her lips, selfishly dragging my teeth over her bottom lip for a split second before pulling back. I couldn’t kiss her, not now, but I was too starved for a bite not to steal a sample.

Her eyes fluttered open, and the expectation in her gaze was torture, so much that I had to close my eyes for a second if I was going to be strong enough to resist being a prick.

One, two, three.

I dropped a barely there peck on her lips, a soft brush that was more of a breath than a kiss, and it didn’t make sense the way it brought the tightness back to my throat and made something in my chest pinch so hard it burned.

It wasn’t even a kiss.

“Of course,” she whispered, a tiny wrinkle in her forehead as she looked up at me, and dammit I could still feel the fullness of her lower lip between my teeth. Missing her was normal, like my default nowadays, but the way I felt—as I pushed the hair away from her face and stared into her eyes—was like missing her, but to the nth degree.

“I don’t deserve you, what you did for me,” I said, my fingers sliding through her silky curls. “After everything.”

“I didn’t do anyth—”

“Yes, you did,” I said, watching my hands as they slipped through her hair.

“I woke you from a bad dream,” she said in a near-whisper, closing her eyes and leaning into my touch, offering up her hair to my hands. “That’s all.”

“Lib,” I said. “It was a lot more than that.”

“Was it?” She opened her eyes, and a thousand butterflies went wild in my stomach, because the way she was looking at me was… God.

It was just, God, all I could ever want in the world.

But it disappeared in an instant because I saw her remember.

I watched as she recalled my sins.

She jerked away from me and sat up straight, clearing her throat and tucking her hair behind her ears. “Um.”

All the soft vulnerability left her face, replaced by a raised chin and a hard swallow. I flexed my fingers, still feeling the tangle of her hair’s softness wrapped around them, and I sat up straighter too. “I’m sorry about the whole nightmare freak-out, by the way.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said, shaking her head but not looking at me. “I’m the one who let myself in.”

I’d been so disoriented that I hadn’t even registered the logistics of her presence. My eyes swept over her, and I only just now realized she was wearing pink flannel pajama pants, like she’d been roused from her bed. “Yeah, uh, why did you do that? I mean, I’m glad you did because you dragged me out of a whopper of a nightmare, but did you need something?”

“Well,” she said, shrugging like she was embarrassed. “I guess I just wanted to make sure you weren’t succumbing to alcohol poisoning, since you were drinking alone.”

So she thinks I’m pathetic.

“Ah,” I said, nodding. “Pictured me drowning in my own vomit, did you?”

“Exactly,” she agreed, also nodding.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I am a pathetic, drunk loser.

Perfect.

“Well, thanks for checking on me.” I gritted my teeth, mortified that she’d witnessed my shitshow. “It was very thoughtful.”

“Of course,” she said, climbing to her feet. “Are you going to be okay now?”

“I’m a little disappointed by how sober I’ve become,” I said, trying hard to sound casual. “But yes.”

“Okay, well then, I’m going to take off,” she said, nodding her head and keeping her eyes away from mine.

I moved to stand, to walk her out, but she held up a hand and said, “No need. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I watched from my spot on the floor as she left, taking those stairs as quickly as she possibly could, and I felt it in my gut when the front door slammed behind her.

“What the hell?” I said, the words echoing off the walls of the empty living room. If it wasn’t for the faint scent of her perfume and the way I could still feel her bottom lip between my teeth, I might think it’d just been a dream.

But hell no, it wasn’t a dream.

I climbed to my feet and went over to the window, the one with the perfect view of the Buxbaum house. It was dark over there, as if everyone was sound asleep, but I knew she wasn’t.

She was probably toeing off her shoes in the dark entryway and petting Fitz, second-guessing her impulsive move to check on me.

I wonder if she’s thinking about that almost-kiss.

She had to be, I thought, because that almost-kiss between us felt like so much more than so many full-on kisses between other people.

I’d barely been awake, but I could’ve been in a coma and it wouldn’t have mattered. I didn’t need to be conscious to know that Liz’s mouth was underneath mine, a breath away, and her eyes were on my lips, like she’d wanted me to kiss her.

Want. What a ridiculous word.

Because the want that I felt when she’d lifted her lips to me like an offering was so much greater than four pathetic letters. I mean, people wanted things like coffee and new cars, right? How could the same word be used for what I felt when she looked at my mouth?

It couldn’t.

The English language had yet to create a word that could capture my level of frenzied, desperate need.

The feel of her full lower lip between my teeth was like… like holding a freshly grilled steak up to the mouth of a starving man. Okay, shitty analogy, but I swear to God that every one of my fingers clenched, every muscle in my body trembled, and every instinct in my being reared up and wanted to feast.

God, the way I want everything with her.

Liz’s bedroom light flipped on as I looked out the window, and I imagined her climbing into bed and pulling up the covers.

Good night, Lib.

I sighed, regretting my decision to be a decent human, because I was a starving man when it came to her.

Which made me an idiot for not filling up when I had the chance, right?

I sat there, lost in want and regret, until I finally saw her room go dark.

Then I drove myself crazy in a multitude of ways.

I paced the main level of the house, continuing to torture myself by replaying the almost-kiss and the way she’d looked at me in that moment. Dear God, the way she’d looked at me.

I did push-ups as I revisited my half-sober recollection of my freak-out (over and over again), and then I lay on the kitchen floor as I tried figuring out what exactly I’d told her about my guilt regarding my father.

Because the alcohol and exhaustion were really messing with my recall.

I was pretty sure I’d only alluded to my culpability, falling short of actually confessing the details. Which—thank God, because if she’d looked at me like I was a pathetic loser for my drunk freak-out, I could only imagine how she would’ve looked at me if she discovered I’d been a monster to my dad, on top of everything else.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to get her to forget about the mess I’d been, but I’d find a way just as soon as we were back in LA.

I had to, because I was going to die from this want if I didn’t get her back soon.

I was happy to see the sun come up a few hours later, and after showering and packing up all my stuff, so the place was ready for the new owners, I texted Sarah.

What time are you coming over?

Sarah: Mom and I are on the way.

That wasn’t what I expected. I looked out the window at the place next door and texted: She wants to come to the house?

Because even though therapy had helped my mom get okay enough to return home for my sister’s sake, she’d always hated the house after my dad died.

Sarah: She wants to take PICTURES of the house.

That made me smile in spite of everything else, because I’d really come to appreciate my weird new mom.

It was bizarre, how much she’d changed.

She was just Mom for my first eighteen years, the woman who made dinner, put Band-Aids on my scrapes, and kissed me good night after the sun went down.

But when my dad died, she disappeared.

She became this unreachable person, a shell of the mother I’d grown up with. If she wasn’t crying, she pretty much wasn’t doing anything at all. Part of me had hated her at the time—even though I felt like a jerk for thinking that—because her PTSD had forced me to take on a role I’d never wanted.

But now she was like an entirely different version of herself.

She was funny, self-deprecating about her issues, and the woman who’d once been relatively private was now the most open book anyone had ever met. It was annoying a lot of the time, to be honest, the way she’d tell anyone anything, but I’d take it, because she was alive again.

Hearing her laugh again was something I’d never grow tired of.

Although I was really second-guessing that sentiment an hour later, because as Lilith, Clark, and Liz did their thing, hauling equipment around the house while randomly asking me baseball questions (that didn’t involve my dad’s death, thank God), my mom kept filling them in on information no one needed to know.

“So this is where it started, huh?” Clark asked, throwing the baseball to me while Lilith filmed.

“Wow, Clark, such hard-hitting questions,” Sarah quipped from where she was sitting on the railing of the deck, watching.

Yeah, she is definitely Team Wes and being a little brat, I thought as I squeezed the ball in my glove.

“Listen, Tiny Bennett, when I want your feedback, I will ask for it,” he said, grinning like he’d been waiting all morning for her to mess with him.

We were playing catch in the backyard, and it was totally cheesy, but I was always more comfortable when the ball was in my hand, so I was okay with it. I threw him the ball, and as he caught it he asked, “Is this where your dad taught you to throw a baseball?”

“Another one,” Sarah muttered.

“I guess it is,” I replied, very aware of Liz as she recorded us with a smaller camera. “We used to spend hours back here when I was in Little League.”

“Did your sister shag balls to help?” Clark asked, throwing. “Or just deliver smart-ass comments like some kind of stock side character from a Disney show?”

“Wow,” Sarah yelled, laughing. “Did you just call me a Disney character?”

“All Zuri, no Jessie,” he said, which was a reference I didn’t even get.

But apparently my sister did, because she pointed at him and said, “Zuri was a little badass, so thank you.”

He glanced over at her, shaking his head. “Can you zip it so I can ask a few questions?”

“I’ll zip it,” she said. “But I’m not sure you can actually ask any decent questions.”

“Sarah isn’t good at quiet,” my mom said. “Her fourth-grade teacher moved her desk into the hallway because she wouldn’t shut up.”

“So on-brand for our Zuri,” Clark said, grinning. Then he asked me, “So Liz was next door when you were playing catch back here with your dad? That’s so funny to me.”

“Those two used to hate each other,” my mom said, sounding happy as she leaned against the fence and explained, “Liz was this quiet little thing who was easily ruffled, and Wessy’s favorite thing in the world was to ruffle anyone and everyone.”

I glanced at Liz, who met my gaze for a second before quickly looking down at her camera. She’d pretty much pretended I didn’t exist since they showed up on my doorstep, keeping her eyes on everything but me. Tension hung between us, the color of her cheeks telling me she remembered every little thing that had transpired mere hours before, and I couldn’t stop staring at her lips.

So close.

“She used to get so irritated when errant throws interrupted her playtime,” I said calmly, like I wasn’t totally struggling to focus on conversation while being hyperaware of Liz’s every movement.

“No, I got irritated when my obnoxious neighbor jumped the fence and harassed me.” She was filming, her attention on the camera, but her tiny smile was mine when she added, “He might seem nice now, but Bennett was a menace.”

Fucking yes, tease me, Buxbaum.

“Okay, so I think I’ve got everything I wanted from the house,” Lilith said to Liz, lowering her camera. “The living room, Wes’s bedroom, and the backyard where he learned to play catch. Can you think of anything else we should get here?”

It was obvious Lilith valued Liz’s opinion, and I could tell by the brightness in her eyes that it made Liz happy.

“Um, I think we’re good,” she said, lowering the camera.

“Excellent.” Lilith looked satisfied with that and went back inside, with Sarah and my mom following, so I seized the moment before it was gone.

“Can I talk to you for a quick second, Liz?” I blurted, not exactly sure what I was going to say, to be honest, but needing to clear the air. “It’s about someone we went to high school with.”

Her eyebrows furrowed together. “Who?”

Who? “Uh.” I glanced toward Clark, who didn’t seem to be listening, and said, “Dean Forester.”

Yeah, that only made those eyebrows scrunch together even harder. “Dean Forester?”

I don’t know if Clark heard or not, but he walked over to the patio and started packing up his equipment, his back to us.

“Okay, uh, it’s maybe not about Dean,” I said, stepping a little closer to her and lowering my voice.

“You don’t say,” she murmured, giving me a duh look.

“I just want to apologize for last night. I drank too much and was a mess,” I said quietly, rubbing the spot over my right eye where a headache was raging. “You were really cool when you didn’t have to be.”

“It’s fine.” Her eyes traveled all over my face. She swallowed. Bit down on her bottom lip before saying, “I’m glad you weren’t alone.”

My eyes got stuck on her mouth as my brain delivered instant replay, bringing back the hot slide of that full lip between my teeth for review.

So close.

That was apparently my dismissal, and she turned her attention to her camera.

God, she’s so pretty.

I knew she had to be exhausted after taking care of me in the middle of the night, but those green eyes were clear, her cheeks pink under a few escaped tendrils from her ponytail as she started breaking down her equipment. She was wearing a fisherman’s sweater with a brown skirt, and the thick socks she wore with her Docs did amazing things for her legs.

Holy crap those legs.

“Dude.”

“Huh?” I looked at Clark, and he was watching me watch Liz. Shit.

I could tell by the expression on his face that he’d seen it. That he knew I was leering at his girlfriend. He didn’t look mad, though. His eyes were a little narrowed, like he was processing, but he seemed relaxed when he said, “Thanks again for being cool about us being here.”

I am such an asshole.

“Yeah,” I said, focusing on not following Liz with my eyes. “Of course.”

“So we’re going to let you go to the closing, and you’re still cool with meeting at Emerson Field in a couple hours?”

“For sure,” I said, feeling guilty for thinking about his girlfriend 24.95 hours a day.

“Great,” he said, his face being swallowed by his huge grin. “Thanks, man.”

Everyone left then—my mom and Sarah were meeting me at the bank—and the second I shut the door behind them, the finality of everything reared its ugly head. I wandered through the rooms of the house, my footsteps loud on hollow laminate flooring as a million memories from my childhood flooded my brain.

It was a strange mash-up, the combination of childhood nostalgia and traumatic grief.

I could close my eyes and smell my mom’s spaghetti sauce, the one that used to cook for six hours on the Sunday stove, but I could also still look at that same stove and remember the night I set off the smoke alarms attempting to make pork chops for Sarah a few days after coming home for the funeral.

I straightened and grabbed my backpack from the counter. There was no reason for me to stay any longer. Sarah was right. The bad memories were too bad and only managed to stain what remained of the good. I needed to drive away from Teal Street and never look back.

But as I unlocked the rental car, I did.

I looked back at the house one final time, only this time, I remembered the note Liz left on the porch for me, after prom. I could still picture it, after all these days, and I could still feel the hope that had settled into my body when I realized she’d been waiting for me in the Secret Area.

That she’d made that CD for me.

Thank God that memory isn’t stained, I thought, and then I got in the car and drove away from my childhood.

But not before taking a moment to pull into The Spot one final time.