Their Freefall At Last by Julie Olivia

38

Ruby

“Yes.”

The word leaves her mouth so easily.

Yes.

Of course it does. Who wouldn’t say yes to Bennett Shaw?

There’s a loud clatter. I realize it’s my fork hitting my plate.

Lorelei chokes on her water with an, “Oh my God.”

Landon starts clapping slowly, then faster with wide eyes. Orson joins in.

Jolene is crying, but I barely register it because my own eyes sting.

No. Don’t you dare cry.

But I think I might cry, and maybe I already am.

I’m the worst best friend.

I watch them hug, blinking over and over until my mascara feels damp.

No. No, no, no.

Pull it together. Be happy for your best friend.

Be happy.

I stand, my chair squeaking back. Nobody notices; they’re too excited for Bennett. And so am I.

Right?

I walk over to hug my best friend, but when his eyes meet mine, the eyebrows tugged inward, I have to turn my head. I hug him, my nose getting buried in his hair. His hair that doesn’t smell like strawberries anymore. Only that damn coconut-scented conditioner.

I squeeze part of his bicep to wordlessly say, Congratulations, because I can’t voice it myself.

And then I think I might add, “I have something in my eye,” and maybe Bennett says, “It’s the spices they use in the scrambled eggs,” but I don’t know.

My feet carry me on their own until I’m turning a corner, jogging down the restaurant’s hallway, and pushing open the restroom door.

And then I cry.

No, maybe I wail.

I’m so ashamed of myself, so embarrassed because the sound is louder than I could ever think to be, and I’m whipping open the door to the handicap stall because it’s the biggest—feeling bad for taking yet another thing that doesn’t belong to me—clicking it shut, and sinking to the floor.

My face is so wet, and my chest hurts, and everything is awful.

He’s going to marry her.

He’s going to marry Jolene.

I take a breath, and then I can’t, and then I can again. My face is so wet, and my hands won’t stop shaking.

The restroom door squeaks open. I try to hold my breath, the tears choked in my throat, blocking everything, including sense because, even though I don’t want to take a breath, I’ll have to breathe eventually.

But if I do, people will know I’m in here.

They’ll know that I’m a coward.

“Rubes?” It’s Quinn’s voice that finds me, and the softness of it—so unlike her—is what releases my breath, my choked cough and half-sniff that is a mess of snot and phlegm. “Shit. Ruby?” Then, I see her feet under the bottom of the stall—the black nail polish poking through her open-toed heels. “You in there?”

“I’m fine,” I garble out.

“I’m coming in.”

“It’s locked.”

Apparently, that doesn’t matter because her knees appear in the space between the grimy tiled floor and the off-white stall, and then she’s crawling underneath. I cringe. She cringes. But neither of us comments on how gross that is because she quickly pulls me into her chest and more tears spill out of me again.

I cry so hard that my chest hurts and my body feels empty. I cry until it feels like I’m drained of tears, but somehow, they keep falling like an open faucet, and all I can think is, How is there still more?

“I know,” is all Quinn says, patting my back. Probably because she can’t get anything else in over my loud, blubbering mess. “I know.”

But she doesn’t know. None of them do. Bennett and I have been so good at hiding everything. This pivotal moment in my life, a moment where my world is wildly spinning on its axis with no stopping in sight, probably seems so random to them.

I’ve lost him though.

And even as one of my best friends hugs me—the one person in our group who hates hugging altogether—I suddenly feel the crushing weight of loneliness.

I did this to myself.

I did this.

Her palm rubs over my back until I can finally take a breath and mumble, “I can’t go out there.”

God, I hate the words when they’re said out loud. I hate how selfish, how silly, how absolutely dramatic they sound.

To Quinn’s credit, she hesitates for a moment before saying, “You love Bennett.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement.

“No,” I answer because, “Love can’t even begin to describe how I feel.”

She rubs my back.

“Why don’t you just …” she starts, but then stops.

It’s probably for the best. We both know anything else she could say would be blasphemy toward our friend. What do we do? Tell him not to marry the woman of his dreams? The redheaded bombshell who is confident and exciting and me, but also not me at all?

I lean back, pressing my head against the wall, and blink over at Quinn through my mess of tears. She cringes, which means I must look god-awful. Her thumb swipes over my cheek, and I sniff.

“It’s complicated,” I answer.

She gives a weak laugh. “No kidding.”

Leave it to Quinn to tell a joke. Lorelei would cry with me. Theo would tell me men were stupid. Quinn doesn’t beat around the bush though.

“So, how long?” she asks.

I sniff. “A while. Twenty-something years.”

“Twenty years?”

I laugh wetly. “Yep.”

Turns out, my relationship with Bennett is exactly what I didn’t want it to be. A crush, just like Miranda had said.

What a cruel joke.

God, Miranda and her glorious life lesson from so many years ago were correct. And I hate her for it. Mostly, I hate myself though because I see Miranda’s side of things now. I feel how much she craved my dad, a man already captured in love. I know she must have felt entitled to him because I feel entitled to Bennett.

I’m just as bad as her.

“Why’d you never do anything about it?” Quinn asks.

“We did. Sort of.”

“You did?”

“Sort of.”

“Wait a sec. Did you … y’know … with Bennett?”

“No,” I lie because, instinctually, I don’t want to share what we had. That night was special, and I want it for myself. God, but why? Why does it matter? What significance does it have now? So, I instantly close my eyes and admit, “Sorry, that’s a lie. Yes. We’ve had sex.”

Quinn, to her credit, only gasps a little—more like a I poked my thumb with a sewing needle type of gasp rather than a pearl-clutching gasp.

“Oh,” she says.

“On our Florida trip,” I finish.

She gasps louder. “No!” Pearls are now clutched.

“Yep.”

“Why did you never get together?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Always is. Try to explain.”

“Well,” I sigh, “if I’d met him yesterday or last week or five years ago … maybe I would have. Maybe.” But even I know that is yet another lie. Because I don’t have that type of gumption, do I? I’m not a Jolene. I’m only a Ruby. “Or maybe I wouldn’t have,” I admit. “I don’t know.”

Quinn’s hand strokes over my arm.

“But I met him when I was seven,” I continue. “I couldn’t lose him. He’s my soul mate, I think, if that’s even a thing. And I couldn’t bear to lose part of my soul. I didn’t think I’d ever get it back.”

After a moment, Quinn just says, “Damn.”

Damn.

Damn, damn, damn. The curse word reverberates through my body like an echo in the hollowness of my chest.

“It hurts,” I finally admit. “But it’s all my fault for doing nothing.”

Quinn intertwines her fingers with mine and leans her head on my shoulder. “Life’s unfair sometimes, lady.”

I look down at my wrist—my shaking wrist—and the pink string hanging there.

“Um,” I choke out, “this bracelet was actually our promise to marry at thirty.” I want to bury my face in my hands. “God, that’s so dumb.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Two twelve-year-olds made that promise. And who actually remembers the things they said as a teen?”

Quinn nods more to herself than me. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking that a lot lately too. Did you know Landon and I were friends?”

I laugh. “You hate him.”

“Sort of. Maybe. I don’t know anymore.” She sighs and pulls me closer. I curl in. “Nobody is perfect, Rubes. Maybe we both need a little more courage in our lives.”

And then I say the one thing I’ve kept inside for years.

“I just wish I’d found mine two years ago. Before my best friend fell in love with someone else.”

* * *

I’m drinking again. At least it’s acceptable at an engagement party. I take another sip—no, swig—from my champagne flute right as Landon cracks another joke about Bennett’s big hands holding his own teeny-tiny drink.

I like Bennett’s hands though, so glug, glug, glug for me.

I tilt my head to the side, watching as those big bear paws grip Jolene’s waist. He’s grinning ear to ear. So is she. It’s the happiest I’ve ever seen them, and part of me wonders if it’s fake.

No, maybe I’m just going through the stages of grief.

Hello, denial.

“I’m gonna get us another bottle,” I murmur.

Quinn rests her palm on my shoulder, as she has all night, but the hand drifts away as I stand and walk off.

The room is a bit spinny, but not as much as it could be, I guess. I swear the kitschy little chickens on the wall are laughing at me. Or ba-gawking.

That makes me giggle to myself until I realize I’m too sad to be smiling.

Oh well. Bennett would have found that joke funny.

I lean on the bar top, but when the bartender asks for my order, I’ve already forgotten why I’m here. It’s just a nice bar, and the air is clear, and I can no longer see my best friend’s beautiful inky hair clutched in another redhead’s hands that are not my own.

My forehead starts to lean forward, then down, down, down until I hit the counter with a groan.

A low voice beside me chuckles. “You look sad.”

I turn my head so my cheek rests on the bar. I look at the man beside me. Gosh, he’s cute. Bearded with a sly little smirk. Some speckled gray across his temples and … icy-blue eyes.

“Michael?” I murmur with a squint.

There’s that laugh again. “Hey, Red.”

“Christ, he looks great now.”

Michael gives the prettiest grin. “Do I?”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“You did.”

“Oh God.”

His beautiful blue eyes travel down my face and to my lips before trailing back up.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my lips still clinging to the wooden countertop with each word. I don’t have the strength to pull my head back up.

“Visiting my kid.”

My mouth opens in surprise. “You have a kid?”

“Yeah. Daddy Michael here.”

Oof.

That, plus the gray streaks in his hair? I’ve gotta pull myself together.

He leans an elbow on the bar and grins. He’s always had a stellar smile, fit with dimples and white teeth. But he no longer looks like the teen heartthrob I used to know. Now, he looks a little more refined. Debonair. Fancy almost.

“Congratulations on getting married,” I mumble because, apparently, everyone is happy.

He chokes out a half-laughing grin. “Ah. No. I’m not. Just a dad. His mom and I never worked out.”

I wince. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s in the past. So, you still living here?” he asks.

I nod and slur out, “I’m at Bennett’s engagement party.”

His lips part. “Whoa. That so?”

He leans back on the heels of his shoes to peek over to the party room. I don’t know what he sees, but the click of his tongue tells me he likely sees just how happy my best friend is. Just the memory of his arm around Jolene has me rolling my forehead on the counter again.

Michael sighs. “His loss then.”

“No, no, no,” I say, lifting my head—oops, that’s not fun—and waving my hand around. “No, it’s good. It’s perfect. He’s happy. This is what I wanted.”

Michael’s expression shifts, his mouth tilting down, his knuckles rapping on the bar top. And, weirdly, he replies, “Y’all sure have changed.”

“Not really,” I reply with a sniff. “Not that much.”

If I had changed, maybe I would have taken a chance. Maybe I would have been less of a pushover. Or maybe I would have just stood up for myself for one second in my life and let myself be happy. I would have said, Choose me.

Michael lifts a single eyebrow. Is that a thing they teach you at handsome-man school or something? Though, while it’s gorgeous, it’s still not as wonderful as Bennett’s single eyebrow lift.

“I’ve never seen you like this, Red.”

I close my eyes.

“I’ve never felt like this,” I reply.

“Too many drinks?”

“Yes,” I say because that’s not entirely why I feel like crap, but I don’t want to get into it again. Not when I probably have more tears to offer.

He scans me for a moment before asking, “Do you need a ride home?”

I shake my head side to side. “No. I’m parked—”

“Not what I asked,” he interrupts. “Can you drive?”

“I have keys.”

“Christ, Red. Hand them to me.”

“No.”

“C’mon.”

“Stop.”

“You’re not leaving like this.”

“God, screw off,” I snap.

Michael’s head jolts back. Mine does too.

“I’m sorry … I …”

But a smile spreads over his face. He nudges my shoulder. “Well, look at you, having some fire.”

Do I? I don’t know what that was. I’ve rarely had fire in my entire life. But something beneath my bones hurts a little. My soul aches, like the burning of an ember. Doesn’t it know I’m the wrong person? I don’t get angry. I don’t get emotional. I’m Ruby.

God, I’m not ready for the anger stage of grief, thanks. I’ll stay in denial just fine. It’s where I’m best suited.

“What are you doing for the rest of tonight?” Michael asks.

I gesture to the bar top. He barks out another charming, silver-streaked-demon-type laugh.

“Okay, well, how about this? You give me your keys. You keep partying on, but with water only. And then we’ll meet back here, and I’ll assess whether you can drive home. How’s that?”

“Sounds like a shit night for you.”

He chuckles. “I don’t know. Sounds like a blast with a beautiful woman.”

My eyes widen, and my heart goes into panic mode. “Oh, I don’t want to sleep with you.”

He blows out a massive rush of air. “Good Lord. You’ve been drinking, Red. Who do you think I am?”

I blink up at him, narrowing my eyes. “Michael Waters?”

He chews his cheek before letting out a small snort and shaking his head side to side. “I’m just Michael, all right? The whole double-name thing makes me seem—”

“Like a dick?” I finish.

“Yeah,” he responds with a chuckle. “Yeah, like a dick. I’m not gonna take advantage of a drunk woman. I promise I’m nicer than that.”

I smile. “I always thought you were a little nice.”

“Well then, just you wait. I’m practically … I don’t know. Who’s a nice person?”

“Gandhi?”

“There we go,” he says with a snap of his fingers. “You were always the smart one.”

I find myself laughing, and it feels good. I love laughing. I miss laughing.

Michael grabs my hand and places a small kiss on the back of it. “Keys?”

I dig in my pocket, place them in his palm, and nod.

“Good. Now, wait for me before you leave,” he orders.

And I follow his direction.