Goodbye to You (18 page)

Control is the one thing I craved the most throughout my life. Now I’d relinquish control to wake up next to Thea every day.

I turn on the shower, running tepid water, hoping it will ice my raging ardor. Merely
thinking
about touching her gets me going, and if I don’t get rid of this erection, sleep will elude me.

I step in and let the frigid water cascade over my body. A swim would be calming. I’d love to go running like Liam does. He waxes poetic about the runner’s high, the rush of endorphins churning after logging so many miles. I tried jogging, but the pain in my knee, caused by the built-up scar tissue from multiple post-accident surgeries, prevents me from trying again, so I swim.

I enjoy the solitude when I hit the pool at six o’clock in the morning.

A swim tomorrow morning will help burn this restless energy.

I shut down the shower, dry off, and get dressed in my gym shorts and tee shirt. I still need to study. My phone vibrates, buzzing across the dresser.

I pick it up, expecting Mom or even Mac, who’s struggling with the death of his long-time therapist. I’m the crutch trying to get him through as he navigates through this major disruption.

It’s not either of them though. Instead, it’s a text from Thea.

Thea: So sorry abt earlier. Thx for understanding. Bennie’s sound asleep.

Me: No problem. She needs you.

Thea: You’re the best. Can I make it up to you tomorrow?

Tomorrow? I’m glad we’re texting because I bet I look like an idiot with a stupid grin plastered on my face.

Me: Sure. Dinner and a movie?

Thea: Sounds good. How about that raunchy “bro” movie?

I hope she wants to see it and is not suggesting the film because she thinks I, as a “dude,” like low-brow films.

Me: You sure?

Thea: I love those! Don’t you? Pick something else.

Me: No, they’re funny.

Thea: If you’re sure. How bout I pick you up? Need your addy.

I’ve never done the dating thing, but whatever rules Thea wants to go by are cool with me. I send her my address, and we say good night.

My head is swimming with the possibilities of things to come. I want to run, jump, and shout from the balcony how excited I am. My neighbors would prefer I didn’t..

I feel phenomenal.

The one thing I don’t feel like doing, however?

Studying, which I can do in the morning after I go for my swim.

I grab my tablet, open the latest e-issue of a psychology journal, and slide into the crisp, clean sheets on my bed. I drift to sleep and wake up hours later to turn the light off. When I go back to sleep, I dream of Thea tangled in these sheets with me.

The dream will be a reality soon enough.

I won’t be able to help myself, no matter my best intentions.

I’m giddy I get to see Shay again, the “once and done” proclamation shredded by my lack of will power.

He’s hard to resist.

I’m wired, not ready to sleep yet, and another beer might settle my nerves, so I grab one and my laptop before sliding under the covers.

My appointment with the plastic surgeon to discuss reconstruction options is next week, so I do more research. Bennie and Leesh ask why I keep torturing myself with these images. Not torture, I tell them.

Reality.

Soon, the scars and pain will be mine. I’ll never be the same, physically or emotionally.

I tilt my head at a thumbnail in my search engine’s image results. A smiling young woman, no more than thirty years old, sits on a couch shirtless. The rosary beads around her neck emphasize her pale skin and puckered, pink scars. Behind her sits her husband—they’re both wearing wedding bands—and he’s shirtless too, kissing her hair while she holds his hand.

Without warning, tears scorch my cheeks.

I thought reconstruction would be the right choice to create a semblance of normalcy for me, but the decision’s been driven in part by a desire to
be
normal for guys.

The woman in the photo has no breasts. She has scars. But she has the two things I lack.

Faith and love.

I need to find the first and the second will follow.

I need to have faith Shay will love me no matter what, that even though we hardly know each other, he cares enough about me to weather this storm.

If he doesn’t want to, he never deserved me. If I can’t be honest, I don’t deserve him.

Easier said than done.

How long can I keep this from him? How long can I prolong this sweet joy he’s giving me, without him even knowing how much it means? I don’t want him to walk away. I need him for a couple more weeks, so I’ll tell him later.

But I will tell him.

Then hold my breath and pray he stays.

I whistle as I jump into the shower after my swim.

When I kept talking about her this morning, Fred smacked me upside the head, thinking the blow would knock sense into me.

So much for scientific reasoning, since a knock on the head can make people more senseless, not less.

I dry off and get dressed to go meet Fred at the library so we can quiz each other. Not only was Fred a known entity as a roommate after four years at Miami, but he was a known entity—a superior one—as a study partner. The tricks and tips he taught me helped me get through the most rigorous undergrad material. He helped get me to my first choice medical school so I could study with Dr. Sykes.

That dream’s becoming a reality.

The other dream, the one I’d suppressed, about finding love with someone who’s not terrified of my family’s tendency toward mental illness, was close to becoming a reality.

I worry any genetic material responsible for my birth mother and brother’s severe depression is lying dormant in me, waiting to attach itself to my future children.

It’s also possible Thea hasn’t even considered the idea of having kids with me.

Heck, the idea only came now.

If she has time to think, if I mention it to her, she may reconsider our relationship.

It’s too soon to think about children, but why would she want to waste her time with someone who’s defective? She knows about Rose and Mac. We discussed the genetic link. Do I mention future children in the “honeymoon” phase of our relationship?

I shake my head and try to block out the negative thoughts. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and slide on my sunglasses as I step out into the bright morning sun. The day is shaping up to be a hot one, and after I walk to the library and back to my car, I’ll need another shower before Thea arrives.

For the second date in two days.

We’re breaking the dating rules, and I like it.

A couple girls are sitting on the circular brick wall of the fountain marking the center of campus. They wave and say hello, giggling behind their hands when I return the greeting.

Freshmen, maybe sophomores, I think.

I’m not interested in stopping to talk. A year ago, heck, six months ago, if a pretty girl had said hello, I would have at least paused, even if I were afraid of talking to her.

Now, no one else can garner my interest because they’re not Thea.

My brain must have turned to mush, as Fred scientifically diagnosed this morning, based on my symptoms of glazed eyes, relaxed limbs, and a distinct fixation on one female with wild hair and large breasts.

If this is mush-brain, I’ll take it.

I’ve never been more happy or hopeful.

My future’s brilliant with Thea in it.