Deciding Tomorrow

Deciding Tomorrow

Renee Ericson

Copyright © 2014 by Amber Maxwell

Cover Art by Amber Maxwell

Image: Shutterstock

Edited by Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Twitter: @EricsonRenee

DEDICATION

~To Patience~

Thank you for your companionship.

~DECISIONS~

“You thought wrong. All I needed was you.”

“But I couldn’t be there for you,” I say. “I couldn’t be anywhere for anyone, even myself.”

Brent hangs his head, pondering, while looking at the ground for five audibly counted breaths.

“Then, I have just one question.” Lifting my chin, he asks, “Where are you now?”

“Here.” I swallow. “I’m right here.”

“Then, I’m still waiting”—he looks straight into that place only he can find—“for you to find your way back to me.”

I suck in a jagged breath, but the oxygen ceases to fully enter my lungs. Time stands still as the anticipation of my reply hangs in the air.

He plants his warm lips softly on my cheek and then drops his hand from my chin. He waits.

I nip my bottom lip and tighten my mouth to keep it from shaking. “I want to,” I stutter out, throwing my arms around his neck. “I want to.”

Brent relaxes his stiff form, slowly wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me from the ground, securing me into his chest. “We’ll figure something out.”

ONE WEEK LATER

ONE

 “Attention, passengers,” a female voice alerts overhead. “The captain has started our final descent. At this time, please return your seats back and tray tables to their upright positions and stow carry-on bags under the seat in front of you or in the overhead bin. Make sure that your seat belts are fastened and please remain in your seats until the plane has reached the gate. We will be on the ground shortly.”

Pressing the button on the armrest, the seat pushes my back upward, posturing my body at a ninety-degree angle. I return the magazine that I feigned to read the entire flight to the seat pocket in front of me and then look out the window. The early morning gray sky is splattered with clouds.

A soft finger brushes my elbow, and a rattling sound comes from the passenger next to me.

“Hang on,” says the woman in the middle seat. The child on her lap wriggles, twisting his little body around. “I’ll get it.”

She bends over, stretching toward the floor where people’s dirty shoes shuffle all day long, as she attempts to reach something. The toddler is blocking her exhaustive efforts as she tries to maneuver in the small space.

“Allow me,” I offer.

“Thank you,” she sighs, relieved.

I easily snatch up the soft, plush giraffe from the floor and hand it to the mother’s waiting hand. She gives it to her son, who immediately puts it into his mouth.

So much for germs.

“Thanks again.” She adjusts the little boy as he bounces up and down on her lap. “It’s so hard traveling with a little kid, especially on such a long flight like this.”

“No problem, and I’m sure it is.”

She wipes the hair from the front of her face. “I can’t wait to get home. We’ve been gone for what feels like forever.”

“Oh, you live in L.A.?” I smile at the slobbering little guy sitting on her legs.

His angelic white-blond hair falls in wisps around his ears.

“Yes, well, just outside in one of the southern suburbs. My son and I were visiting my mother in South Carolina. I try to make the trip once a year.”

“That sounds really nice. I’m sure she was excited to see you two.”

“She was.”

Her little boy pulls one of the magazines from the pocket on the back of the seat in front of her and waves it in the air.

“What about you? You heading home, too?” she asks.

“No, I live in Chicago. I’m just coming out for a visit.”

“Oh, are you visiting anyone special?”

“Yes”—I smile—“I am.”

She doesn’t reply because her son paws at her face, and she tries to keep him content as we descend toward our destination. Out the window, the world below gets bigger with each passing minute.

This past week has been like no other I’ve ever experienced before. Brent, the man who at one point in time was everything to me, has plunged his way back into my life, upheaving everything I had in motion—college, work, dating.

Yes, I had to cancel a date.
A coworker and I’d had plans to go out, but there was no way I could meet him. My heart wasn’t in it as it was being drawn toward someone else.

Just this past Monday morning, Brent left my apartment and headed back to L.A. I understand why. Our lives are different than they once were. He has responsibilities and obligations. So do I, and mine are in Chicago. I badly wanted him to stay, so we could try to be together to find out what is left of us—if there is still an
us
—but that wasn’t possible. He walked out the door, leaving me in fragments. Since he’s been gone, I’ve realized that a piece of me has always been with him. I can feel the emptiness acutely without his presence, like a dull pain that I’ve learned to live with for years is suddenly a reopened wound.

After he left, throughout the week, we’ve talked on the phone every day. It has been difficult finding time when we are both available since he has been so busy with team play-offs with his professional soccer team, and I have school and work. Plus, the time difference plays a factor.

His team had a play-off game this past Thursday, and they won. Later that night, Brent and I agreed that we wanted to see each other soon. However, with the unpredictability of when his season would end, we couldn’t plan anything. The unknown just made him seem farther away. I was beginning to question what we were doing, if anything at all. I thought that maybe I would have to live with just our memories, including his recent visit to Chicago.

Brent called the next day and asked if I would fly out to L.A. on Sunday. His brother, Cohen, would be flying in for the weekend as well, but Brent assured me that my company wouldn’t intrude on the visit since Cohen would be leaving right after the match on Sunday evening. Brent would have Monday off, so it would be just us the whole day. It seemed crazy and last-minute, not to mention expensive, but I said yes. I couldn’t help it.

So, here I am, on a plane, about to see Brent again in less than one week’s time after about a four-year hiatus. I guess when someone wants something badly enough, they do irrational things, like fly more than halfway across the country to spend forty-eight hours with someone they haven’t seen in years. Right now, I’m one of those illogical people. Oddly though, it feels right.

Brent was right that fate had driven us back together, but the rest is left to us to figure out. I’m not sure if we can ever get back to what we were long ago, to the kind of love we shared. There was something special about that time. It was almost magical in some way. We were once something beautiful, bonded through a process of heat and fire, much like porcelain. Our love was put on a pedestal—only to fall and break, shattering into millions of tiny pieces scattering everywhere.
How can we ever find them all?

It’s time to find out. 

Nervous is not a big enough word to describe the anticipation for this little spur-of-the-moment trip. It’s impulsive, illogical, and everything I want to do.

The airplane lands with a jolt, and we taxi to the gate. My palms are ridiculously clammy as I turn on my phone to let Brent know that I’ve arrived. According to the clock, it’s just before ten in the morning, local time. Moments later, a text appears.

Brent: I’ll be waiting outside near the baggage claim exit. 

Me: I just landed. You here?

Brent: Yes. I’m in a silver Audi. I’ll be looking for you.

Another Audi?
Apparently, he has a thing for them. He had one in high school, too.

Me: Great. I’ll be there shortly. 

Brent: See you soon.

Pulling my bag into my lap, I tuck away my phone and wait impatiently until we’re able to leave the aircraft. 

About ten minutes later, I’m exiting the plane with my blue duffel bag over my shoulder. I walk down the hall and follow the signs toward baggage claim even though I didn’t check a bag. Stepping onto an escalator, I descend to where large groups of people are piled around the baggage carousels, awaiting their luggage. Everyone appears tired from their flights, except for the young kids swirling in circles to entertain themselves.

Taking a deep breath and then another, I continue straight toward the automatic sliding doors. One set opens before the next, and then I exit into the bright morning light. The air is warm, warmer than Chicago, but it’s not appropriate for sunbathing. It is November. I unbutton my jacket so not to overheat, and then I search for Brent. 

My brown eyes lock on the only silver Audi in sight, resting near the curb.

This is it.

There’s no turning back, not that I could anyhow.

He’s what I want, the reason I’m here, and all I have to do is take the measured steps to meet him.

And so, I do.

About ten feet away from the car, the driver’s side door opens, and Brent’s ebony hair comes into view. He rounds the vehicle, meeting me halfway. His face lights up.

Everything, except for him, ceases to exist.

I’m finding my way home.

“Hi,” I barely get out, unsure of how to start.

“Hi.” He reaches for the bag on my shoulder. “You ready to go?”

“Absolutely.”

He laughs, nervous, and then he opens the back door before placing the medium-sized bag on the seat. I reach for the passenger side door to let myself in. 

“Wait,” Brent says as he closes the door. “I think you forgot something.”

“I did?” I release the handle. “I’m pretty sure I only had one bag.”

He suddenly wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me up. I shriek like a teenager while gripping his shoulders. Our noses touch, and my breaths quicken. There might not be enough air in the universe to feed the beat of my heart. 

“I didn’t realize how much I missed you,” Brent says.

“Me either,” I reply.

The words are heavy, applying further back than just last weekend. 

He closes his lids, sealing off his enticing green-gray eyes, and nudges his mouth forward, tentatively touching mine for a quick kiss. Pulling me closer, Brent rests his chin on my shoulder as I circle my arms around his neck, holding him tight. In each other’s arms, my body remembers every contour of his. The smell of his cologne along with the underlying scent of him, uniquely Brent, blissfully invade my senses. Our hearts beat next to one another, with one another. We melt into one, and I don’t want to let go. 

Brent sets me down and kisses me on the cheek. Then, he holds open the car door for me, and I slide inside the tan leather interior. He shuts the door, makes his way around the vehicle and gets in as I buckle my seat belt. Moments later, we’re pulling out into traffic, heading toward the highway, on our way to his place. 

“Thanks for picking me up,” I say, watching the cars weave in front of us. 

“Did you think I would make you walk?”

“No.” I laugh. “Just…thanks.”

Would it be wrong to stare at him?
Adjusting my body, I lean my shoulder against the seat, openly watching Brent as he drives.
This is why I’m here. He is why I am here, so there’s no reason to be shy now. It’s all or nothing.

We need to get to know one another again, and I’m not going to hold back any part of myself. I might get hurt, but I’ve been wounded before. Pain is something I’m capable of surviving, and a broken heart doesn’t scare me. I’ve been living with one for years.