Love's Deception Page 4

  “I won’t say the ‘L’ word because I know you’ll throw a pillow at me, but man, you have it bad.” I threw the pillow at her anyway, and we laughed. But she wasn’t wrong even though I found myself saying, “It’s just new and exciting, and he makes me feel special.”

  “You keep telling yourself that,” she responded with a smirk and an eye roll.

  Even with my denial, I knew Nolan could obliterate me. He could shred my heart into a thousand pieces, and just that thought hurt so much that I actually rubbed my chest right above my heart. So how would the real deal feel?

  After three more days with Nolan—wondering if I was digging a little more of a grave for my heart with each day that I spent with him—I decided I needed to know what we were. I even had to admit to Stephanie I had it bad for Nolan to get her advice on how to approach him to figure out just what we were.

  “Liquor him up but not so much that he’s plastered. Just enough so that it’s his truth serum, and then bam, ask him what you are.”

  “Sounds deceitful,” I said.

  “Sounds genius,” she countered.

  In the end, I wasn’t sure if I was going to liquor him up, but I knew that when we went back to his place at the end of the night, I was going to ask him what we were. Before things got heated.

  I just hoped I had the courage to face the answer.

  LOVE SHOULD BE this beautiful, wonderful thing. It was supposed to consume you, make you feel light as air, give you butterflies in your stomach, provide a confidence you didn’t know you possessed, and make you look like you glow from the inside out. At least that was what cheesy rom-coms and unrealistic fiction stories taught us about love.

  When I finally fell in love, I expected fireworks, songs dancing in my head, and rose-colored glasses.

  What I actually got was pain.

  Love hurt.

  I didn’t liquor Nolan up, though he did drink a beer during dinner. I, on the other hand, drank two glasses of wine. It wasn’t enough to get me drunk, not even really buzzed, but it gave me the false courage I needed to have a conversation with Nolan about where we stood.

  After dinner at a local Mexican restaurant, we made it to his place. I had vowed not to sleep with him until I had an answer to my question, but the minute we were inside, his mouth was on mine, his tongue teasing as his deft fingers traced my skin, making goose bumps appear as I shivered in anticipation of what was to come.

  All rational thoughts left me as his mouth made its way down my body along the path his fingers had just traced.

  Needless to say, it was only after we had sex—twice—and were relaxing in each other’s arms that I turned to face Nolan and asked him point-blank, “What are we?”

  “You are very much all woman,” he said with a smirk as his eyes traveled down to my breasts and then back to my face. “But if you have to ask what I am, I’m clearly doing something wrong.”

  I would have chuckled if it weren’t for the seriousness of my question.

  “Really, Nolan. We’ve seen each other almost every day for the past month. I’m getting to know more about you each day and vice versa. And I don’t see that ending anytime soon. I’d like to hope we’re exclusive; one, because I don’t share, especially if I’m sleeping with someone, and two, because I just can’t see when either of us would have the time for anyone else. But we never actually had that talk. Are we exclusive?”

  “Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Why would I want someone else when I have you?”

  I nodded. “And then what? Are we just dating exclusively? Or is this something more?”

  He didn’t answer right away, but he looked at me thoughtfully as if he were trying to figure out his words. That should have told me this conversation was about to take a wrong turn. “You know I’ve never dated before. I didn’t care enough to date anyone.” This was true, and it did make me feel special, but that wasn’t enough for me. “This is all new to me, Lise. Why do we have to label it right now? Why can’t we just enjoy what we have so far, and we’ll see where it goes from there?”

  “Because I’m starting to care about you more than anyone I’ve ever dated before, and I’ve dated guys for much, much longer than this. So I can only imagine what this will feel like in a month, in a few months …” When I trailed off, I knew what I was leaving unsaid wasn’t lost on him. “I just want to know I’m not wasting my time.”

  “If you’re asking whether we’re going to get married one day, have the white picket fence and kids … I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. I’ve never wanted that before. Of course, I also never wanted to date anyone, so I don’t know. I was never that guy, and I can’t tell you if I’ll ever be him. I don’t have an answer for you.”

  We were both silent at his admission, the tension in the room growing thicker by the second until it was almost unbearable. “I think I should go,” I told him, not because I wanted to but because it had grown uncomfortable.

  “No,” he said with an authority that had me pausing. “You’re not running away just because I don’t have the right answer.”

  “I’m not running away, but things just got awkward.” He kissed me in response, so passionately that it eviscerated any thoughts I had about walking away.

  “Is it still awkward?” he asked with a smug smile.

  “No,” I conceded.

  “Good, then let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow’s another day.”

  I let him comfort me as I drifted off to sleep. But when I woke up, I thought about his words. He’d already done so many things different with me, things he hadn’t ever dreamed of doing, so maybe I just had to be patient and let him figure out that he could be the kind of man to get married and have that white picket fence and kids. After all, we’d only been dating a month. I could wait. If only …

  After I left Nolan’s place that day, it was business as usual. I went to my classes, went into work, and afterward, I was planning to hang out with Nolan. Except he texted me during the day to tell me he had a work emergency and he wasn’t sure what time he’d be home, so he’d see me the next day.

  That was fine. I understood. I took the opportunity to go out with Stephanie and some of our girlfriends to dinner, where we gossiped, and they told me they couldn’t wait to meet my new man. The term “boyfriend” was even tossed around a few times. I didn’t correct them, but it did hurt a little to know I couldn’t actually call him that because he didn’t want to label us even if I had accepted that fact earlier that morning.

  We didn’t really talk that day, and we barely exchanged any text messages, but I figured he was busy putting out a fire at work, and I was busy catching up with friends I had barely seen in the past month.

  It wasn’t until the next day when I started to get an uneasy feeling.

  Nolan usually texted me during the day. It wasn’t ever anything crazy and nothing sexual or romantic even. It was usually just something about his day or an interesting article he read or even a funny picture he saw. But it told me he was thinking about me. It told me he cared. That day, I didn’t get a text. And when I texted him to find out if we were still on for plans, he said the work emergency hadn’t been fixed yet, and he would have to take yet another rain check. I told myself these things happened, but my instinct told me something was off.

  It wasn’t until the next day when Nolan didn’t text me yet again that I knew something was wrong. I was about to text but then thought better of it. If something was truly wrong, I wanted to know. I called him, but it went to voicemail after one ring as if he’d purposely rejected my call. And I was right because I got a text right after.

  Nolan: Sorry busy. Will call or text when I can.

  If things were difficult for him, I wanted to be able to help him, be a shoulder to lean on at the very least, so I replied to his text with just that.

  Me: Is everything ok? Is there anything I can do to help?

  He didn’t respond. And he didn’t call or text for the rest of the day.

&n
bsp; Me: Nolan? What happened?

  I texted the next day. I didn’t get a response.

  And he didn’t call or text the day after either. It was then I realized we were over before we truly began, and he didn’t even have the decency to tell me to my face. That hurt in and of itself. The rejection stung. The potential for what we could have been was lost. But that wasn’t the most painful part. What hurt worse was being away from him, not having him near me, missing his kisses, his gentle touch, even the intensity of his stare, his alpha demeanor, his sly smiles, his flirty banter, his genuine interest in my life, his questions about my days … I loved him.

  It was like that stupid saying, “You don’t know what you got till it’s gone.” I knew I cared about him before, cared about him a great deal and even had the capacity to love him eventually. But apparently, I already did, and I hadn’t known until he was gone.

  I did allow myself some measure of denial, telling myself he was going through something and would call or text when the mess was over, but that day, I couldn’t deny it any longer.

  Stephanie must have known, sensing things about me like the true best friend she was. When I came home that day after class, having had the day off from work, she was already waiting for me with two large tubs of ice cream and all the trimmings—sugar cones, whipped cream, sprinkles, and hot fudge—along with a box of tissues.

  I hadn’t cried until that moment. But seeing the way she loved me—and knowing that Nolan did not—was too much, and I broke down. She wrapped her arms around me as she cursed him out loud.

  “If he doesn’t know what he has, then he doesn’t deserve you, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve your tears. That doesn’t mean you won’t cry them, though, so let’s take today to wallow. Only today. Assholes shouldn’t have any power over our tears, and they sure as hell shouldn’t have any power over our hearts.”

  “I love you,” I told her. “I’ve never been more thankful to have you as my best friend before in my life.”

  “No need to kiss ass, Anna. I already brought the ice cream,” she responded, a large smile on her lips, forcing a small smile from mine. “I love you too,” she added more seriously. “Now, let’s go talk shit about Nolan while we eat the ice cream. You may wallow as I curse him,” she tacked on with a wink. I laughed before breaking down.

  I cried all that night, talking through things with her to see where things went wrong. We couldn’t figure it out, and I didn’t want to after that. Nolan broke my heart, but he didn’t have to own it. I woke up the next day, my heart still painfully shattered, but I didn’t cry. I didn’t let him affect me. I went on with my life, and I knew in time, my heart would follow suit.

  “WHAT THE HELL are you doing here?” I asked as I stopped short in front of my door, staring at the figure sitting against it. He was hunched over, his head hanging down with one leg straight in front of him and the other bent with his arm hugging it. He looked like a little kid, and for the briefest of moments, I wanted to bend down, scoop him into my arms, and hug him while telling him that whatever was bothering him would be all right. But then he looked up. His face was pale, he sported a five o’clock shadow, and his eyes looked tired, dark circles lining them.

  I could see the pain in them as clear as day, and it probably mirrored my own.

  Call me petty if you want, but it gave me satisfaction to know he was miserable.

  I didn’t even need to hear his words to know there was only one reason a guy looked like shit but was sitting at your door waiting for you after he tore your heart in two. So why the heck did he do it in the first place?

  It had been a week since I’d cried over Nolan with Stephanie. My heart still hurt, still beat for him, still loved the asshole sitting in front of me, but I’d accepted we were over, and I knew I’d forget him in time.

  I had gone about my days as before. Yes, my usual chipper mood wasn’t quite there, my motions somewhat robotic at times, but I wasn’t wallowing in self-pity.

  I was afraid seeing Nolan in front of me and having him this close but not be mine would be a step in the wrong direction. So I wanted him as far away from me as possible, yet I wanted him to stay too. Why he was here, and what did he have to say?

  “I fucked up,” he said as he stood slowly. I didn’t respond. He took a step toward me, but I put my hand up to halt his advance. He stopped midstep and visibly winced, as if staying away from me was painful. “I fucked up,” he repeated, but this time, it was quieter and more to himself as he ran a hand through his hair. As if it had just dawned on him how badly he’d ruined us.

  “Yes, you did. You managed to reel me in, but instead of holding on, you threw me back in the water.” I knew my worth even if he didn’t.

  “You’re right,” he said with a sad sigh. “Can we …?” He trailed off as he gestured toward the door, asking silently if we could continue this conversation inside.

  Stephanie wasn’t home, so we could easily go inside and have some privacy. Lord knew she’d probably throw something at him if she saw him. But I was still hurt and upset, and I didn’t think he deserved my time when he hadn’t been decent enough to give me his.

  “I’d rather not,” I told him.

  “Please,” he begged. “Five minutes. I just … I need to explain myself, and then if you still want me to go, I will.”

  Just then, I heard a door open and close somewhere in the building, and I knew even if I didn’t want to have this conversation inside, I didn’t want to continue it in my hallway either. I had a feeling he wouldn’t leave until I heard him out, though, whether the entire world had to hear it or not.

  I nodded. His shoulders visibly relaxed, and I motioned with my head for him to move to the side so I could open the door without brushing against him. He complied and then followed me in once I opened the door, closing it behind him.

  I walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water before leaning against the counter, effectively using it as a barrier between us.

  His eyes trailed to where I leaned against it before going back to my face, and he nodded slightly like he understood.

  “I’m listening,” I told him after a minute of silence.

  “I was scared,” he admitted, and it felt like it hurt him to say the words. “You asking for clarification of what we were forced me to think about it. In my heart, I already knew, but denial is a beautiful thing. I couldn’t deny it any longer when I was faced with it.” He paused, and I waited for more, but he didn’t give it.

  Curiosity won. “What were you denying?”

  “That I love you,” he said point-blank, his heart on his sleeve, his words sincere, his eyes penetrating. “I love you,” he repeated, a little louder and a little clearer.

  “I-I …” I stuttered, caught completely off guard.

  “I’m not telling you because I expect you to love me in return. I just … all my life, I knew I’d never love anyone. Not because I wasn’t capable, but because I saw what the pain of losing my mom did to my dad. I told you before what he said to me—to never love—and I took that to heart. I never dated, so I couldn’t get close enough to anyone to fall in love. But you obliterated all that. You came into my life, and it was inevitable that I was going to fall for you. I knew it was a possibility when I pursued you, when we started dating, and I told myself I was okay with that. But when faced with the actual feelings … it’s hard to disassociate from a belief you’ve had all your life. I realized I loved you, and I wasn’t even sure when it happened. But I knew that if I lost you like my father lost my mom, I’d be shattered. So I tried to run away while it was still fresh, thinking that it would somehow lessen the blow. That maybe if I lost you now, it wouldn’t hurt as badly as losing you later in life. I was wrong. I. Was. Wrong,” he repeated, telling me without telling me the depth of his love for me.

  If his actions were the hammer to my heart, his words were the glue that could put the jagged pieces back together.

  “This past week and a half have been
utter hell. If this is how my dad felt when my mom died, then I didn’t give him enough credit. He’s a stronger man than I could ever be. Because at least I knew you were out there in the universe. I’m here, asking you to forgive me and give me another chance. I have that possibility; he didn’t.”

  “You what?” I asked.

  “Please, Lise,” he said as he took a step toward me even though the counter was still between us. “I tried so hard to stay away. I thought maybe if I did, I could prevent the heartache I knew would come if you left me. But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t function, can’t sleep, can’t even survive one minute without thinking about you, without wondering about you, without itching to call you. I threw my phone against the wall so I wouldn’t be tempted to call you, yet I still reached for it so I could hear your voice. Please, Lise, give me another chance.”

  “You broke my heart,” I said. “You walked away to protect yourself, but you didn’t think about me. You didn’t think about how it would affect me. You didn’t even tell me why or that we were over. I had to guess, Nolan. I had to guess. You couldn’t even be bothered to come up with an excuse as to why we were over just so I would know it was. I appreciate your situation and your feelings, I do, but now it’s my turn to be scared.”

  He rounded the kitchen counter, stopping right in front of me, and took my hands in his before I even knew what was happening.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so very sorry. I admit I didn’t think about your feelings at all. That part kills me the most. Not my own pain, but what I did to you. When you love someone, you put their feelings above your own, and I didn’t. I was selfish. But I promise you, for the rest of my life, for as long as you’re in it, never again.”

  “You say that now, but at the first sign of discomfort, you ran. How do I know you won’t do it again?”