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She put her hands on my chest, pushing me back. I didn't listen to her plea, instead I kissed down her neck, and ran my hands down to the button on her jeans. I fumbled with it for a minute, then flicked it open, my fingers dancing along her waist.
“Brody,” she whispered.
“I want you, Cass, I've wanted you for so fucking long, and now that I've had you, you’re like a damn drug, I can't get enough of you.”
“Brody, please.” She gripped my hand, stopping me from exploring her body any further.
I stopped, a little worried, and studied the look in her eyes. I wanted her, fuck I wanted her, and I could see the want in her eyes too, but something was stopping her.
“Baby, just relax.” I slowed my pace. Kissing her slower, my hands caressing her body. I unzipped her pants and slid my hand inside her panties. Running my fingers through her wet center, I started running circles over her clit. She moaned into my mouth, arching her back as I kissed her deeply. When she was just about to cum, I stopped kissing her and watched her face. I wanted to watch her come undone, but again, she reached down and grabbed my hand stopping me.
“Brody, please stop.”
I instantly stopped, taking my hand away. I wasn't sure why she had stopped me this time, but when she opened her eyes, the look she gave me was not the one she had given me before—this one showed nothing but fear and uncertainty. I pushed myself up off her, turning away and headed over to the door.
“Brody, wait,” she called from behind me.
“I'm sorry Cass. I don't know what came over me.” I stood still for a moment, adjusting myself, then I turned to look at her, but she instantly averted her eyes.
I placed my hand on the doorknob and was just about to leave when her hand gripped my arm.
“Brody, wait, it's not that I don't want...”
“I've got to go.” I felt like I was drowning. I had made a stupid mistake by ever getting into bed with her.
I heard her calling me as I crossed the street toward my house, but I didn't turn around, I couldn't. I had to get away. I couldn't believe what had happened between us over the past few weeks, I didn't know what had come over me. I had promised myself I would never act on my feelings for her. As soon as I was safely inside my house and the door was shut, I leaned against it and looked around the main floor of my house. I had run before after Jackson and Cass had gotten married.
We had been friends through college. I had crushed on her all through school, and at times, I thought Jackson had known it, but I could never be too sure. He finally asked her out, the same day I was planning to. Of course, I never said anything, and I don't think he ever knew how I truly felt about them. I tried to deal with it, but after they got married, I couldn't stay. I ran and got a job up in Canada. Lately, running was looking like a great option again.
Sure, I had promised him I would be here for her, but I was letting those feelings I had worked so hard to leave behind get in the way again, for real this time. We had been sleeping together for a little over a month, and things had changed between us. I couldn't do this to her, my feelings for her ran so deep, and I was afraid. She had just lost Jackson a year ago—what had I been thinking, making a move? I was foolish to think she would be ready to get involved with anyone, let alone me.
My phone pinged. Grabbing it from my pocket, I saw a message from Cass waiting on my phone.
Cass: Brody, please come back
I closed my eyes, gripping my phone in my hand. It would be easier to walk away than to deal with having to see her. The hardest part of leaving would be knowing she truly needed me. I read the next message she sent—she was practically begging me to come back so we could talk.
I walked over and threw myself down on the couch and ran my hands through my hair. I typed out a response to her and sat with my thumb over the send button, debating telling her exactly how I felt, but I couldn't do it. I deleted everything I had just typed and sat there staring at her message, another one coming through, followed by another one.
I quickly sent a text to my landlord, got up and climbed the stairs to my bedroom. I grabbed a couple duffel bags from the closet, packed up the few clothes and small items I had, and went back downstairs. Then I sat down at the table with a piece of paper and a pen. Before I started writing, I sent off a short message to my boss in Canada to see if there was any work available. They were always looking for volunteer firefighters. Within minutes, I received my answer, and that was when I picked up the pen and started thinking about what to tell Cass.
As I wrote, my phone kept pinging, receiving messages from her, reading every one—I felt like a total ass not answering her. The last message she sent let me know she was going to bed and would see me in the morning. It ended with a crying face emoji which made me feel like the son-of-a-bitch I was by doing this to her, but I was at a loss, I didn't know what else to do. I folded the letter and set it on the table. I cleaned the mountain of dishes that sat in the sink, washing and drying them all and putting them away in the cupboard, something I never did. Once the place was cleaned, I glanced at my watch and saw it was almost two in the morning. I looked around grabbing the last few things that belonged to me out of the fully furnished house I had rented and headed out to my truck. I threw everything into the back and went back into the house, shutting off all the lights. Walking to the door, I looked around.
“Please forgive me, Jackson, I know I promised you, but everything considered, I just can't,” I whispered. I opened the front door and locked it behind me. As I went to walk down the stairs, I looked across the street at the dark house, hoping Cass was asleep.
“I'm sorry, Cass, but I can't do this anymore. I love you,” I whispered to the house, tears clouding my vision. I walked down the front steps and climbed into my truck. The engine roared to life, and I hoped she didn't hear it and wake up. I drove slowly down the driveway, keeping my eyes glued to her bedroom window, but tonight, the light didn't come on like it had so many others. I drove slowly down the street and came to the stop sign. I looked in my rear-view mirror, fighting between knowing this was the right thing for me to do and knowing it was the wrong thing for her, and in the end, I was going to break her heart, let alone my own. She had come to depend on me so much. I sat at that stop sign for five minutes, maybe ten before I finally made the decision to turn that corner, and as I drove away from the street that had been my home for the last year, I prayed, in time, she would forgive me, and she would be okay.
* * *
Present
The soundof a cardoor shutting finally jarred me from my memory. I blinked and looked toward the house I sat in front of. Everything was different. I frowned, it looked like new windows had just been put in, and two brand new cars sat in the driveway. The front porch had been painted. I climbed out of my truck and walked around to the driveway entrance, finally seeing the mailbox at the end of the driveway. In big white letters, the name Smith was painted on the front.
“Can I help you?” I heard a man’s voice call. I looked up and saw an older man coming toward me from the detached garage in the back.
“I'm looking for an old friend who used to live here, Cass Reilly.”
“Nope, sorry, don't know anyone by that name,” he smiled.
