Dig

by L.A. Ferro

Kris grabs my shoulder. "Aria, wait. Just hear me out before you say no. One of my really good guy friends will be there, and he hasn't come out in a while, but he RSVP'd this morning that he'd stop by. That's when it dawned on me that you two need to meet. I hadn't thought about him for you—"

Holden is a really great guy. One of the best, actually, but he got screwed over by an ex and hasn’t dated since. Honestly, I figured he didn’t care to since it’s been months. He’s thrown himself into baseball, work, and school, and blown off everyone else in the process. You being there was honestly my last-ditch attempt to persuade him to come out. I didn't think it would work, but then it did." My shoulders slump at her admission.

The best assistance my parents can offer me with paying for school is continuing to put a roof over my head. I always knew they wouldn't be able to pay for my college tuition. They never hid their financial struggles from my brother Spencer and me. Spencer and I both knew whatever future we wanted for ourselves would be one we chased.

"How about burritos? You can order yours without a tortilla." I risk a glance up at him before sliding into his classic Camaro, of which I know he's told me the year a thousand times, but I never remember because cars aren't my thing. As soon as my eyes meet his, he averts his gaze and closes the door. Without words he realized his mistake. Once he's in the car, the apologies immediately start flying out of his mouth. "Aria, I'm sorry. Seriously, babe, I'm just worried about you. It's hard being the only one who knows how bad things are. I just want to help. Please don't overthink my comment." His eyes are pleading for forgiveness that my fucked-up brain can't give. There are times I wish I never confided in him. Hell, half of the time, I'm trying to figure out why I did at all. These days, I can't figure out what's the sickness, what's my heart, and what's just me, and it fucking sucks.

"Aria, you are so beautiful. Do you understand me? Please let me help. Don't shut me out." His eyes are darting between mine waiting for a signal that I'm not only listening but feeling the conviction in his words. I want to feel it so bad. I really do, but I can't feel anything anymore.

We are not currently boyfriend and girlfriend. That title was stripped away three months ago. We'd been dating for almost six months when I told him I thought we needed to take a break. Logan didn't want to take a break. He acted as if I was fucking breaking his heart when I sat him down to have the conversation. Hell, maybe I was, but I was tired, and I felt like he was demanding too much of what little energy I had for myself.

I hadn't put much thought into how someone would react upon finding out that I was sick, but I didn't anticipate anger being an emotion. After I confessed my struggles, he stood up and punched the wall, hitting a stud and breaking his hand. As we sat in the ER waiting to get his hand x-rayed and fixed up, he confessed his indiscretions and admitted he hooked up with some girl he met at a bar–not once, but twice. He said when he went out the night I asked for a break, he didn't have plans to find a hookup. She came onto him, and he was angry about how things were between us. You know, the standard male excuse for sticking their dick where it doesn't belong. It was a revenge fuck. Some would say that since we were technically on a break, he should get a free pass, but for me, it felt like a personal slap in the face. Now here we are three months later doing whatever this is.

Logan knows he's not what I want anymore. It's written boldly across every conversation we have, but he also knows I'm in a bad place mentally. Trust me, after I initiated the break, I felt like an ass, but as time passed, I realized that while I may have been the villain in our story, he was the reaper, collecting all my truths only to cut them down to fit his narrative. Like right now. He is trying to portray himself as a martyr, we both know it's his way of guilting me. That's why he brought up our lack of intimacy. He is trying to draw attention to the fact that he is also sacrificing. The part he’s missing is, I'm not asking him to.

Logan can get any girl he wants. Hell, he's already done it. So why he's determined to shackle himself to me and my problems is perplexing. It hits me then; I only need one question answered. He gets one word from me, and that's it.

I give him one word. One word that will put all this to rest, because I'm done. I've been done, but for some reason, I keep letting him back. So, I ask, "Why?"

"Don't make me answer that. I shouldn't have to answer that. It should be obvious." I'm unsure whether he's insinuating those three little words are how he feels, or if he's simply saying he shouldn't have to tell me he cares about me. Either way, I don't need his words of affirmation. I don't give him anything. He did us both a favor by not saying things he didn't feel in his heart.

Garrett Callahan. While he's the reason I have a job here, outside of the day we collided in a coffee shop, he's been cold and distant, offering nothing but studied glares that always leave me feeling unsettled for reasons I can never seem to pinpoint. Right now, though, his heavy contemplative stare is a welcomed reprieve.

Our relationships are changing because of it. I no longer have the energy to play mind games with catty women. I haven't seen much of Lauren and Kyla lately, and honestly, that's been fine.

A knock on my bedroom door pulls me out of my thoughts. I don't have a chance to even say ‘come in’ before my brother Spencer comes barging in. "Aria, what the hell? Did you go for a jog without me? That's our time. Are you getting too cool to hang out with me?" He parks himself on the edge of my bed before stealing the ball I had been idly tossing in the air.

We haven't talked in what feels like forever. You've flipped-flopped a lot over the past few months, and I wanted to know if you've finally landed on something. Teaching? Nursing? Or Legal Studies, now that you work at the law firm? I'm just trying to talk to my sister. We've always been close, and now that I've started my first year of med school, we haven't been able to connect." Closing my eyes, I take a second to process his words because I know my reactions lately have been nothing short of misplaced, and I hate it. "Aria, are you okay? What's going on? Why do you look like you're on the edge of a mental breakdown?" That earns him a chuckle out of me. "Maybe I am. I don't know. It's like I woke up one day, and suddenly so many things were different." I stop there because the rest is too telling, and the last thing I need is for Spence to worry about me. I'll figure this out. His shoulders deflate with my admission as he reclaims his seat at the foot of my bed.

What's not normal is all the extra shit I have going on. The secret I keep from my family. The one that haunts me and threatens to take all the parts of me I once loved. I don't understand how I let things come to this. I've never been an insecure person. These new parts of me, this sickness, it doesn't fit. How can I be so fully aware that I don't want this and not be able to stop it?

Honestly, being alone feels good right now. When I'm alone, I can just be. I don't feel the weight of people's gazes upon me, and I don't feel the burden of having to impress. I just wish I could rewind the clock to a time when my mind felt less like a prison.

Quickly, I reach for my phone so I can pull up the profile I sent an invite to last night, just to make sure we are talking about the same guy, but when the screen lights up, I see that I have two messages from Holden Hayes. The first reads: Hey pretty girl. Followed by: I was wondering when you were going to reach out. "Why are you smiling? Did he text you? What does it say?" I put my hand to my mouth, and sure enough, I am indeed smiling. Shocker.

Holden is not a man whore. I'm not going to lie and tell you that he hasn't slept around. What twenty-four-year-old hasn't? I'm saying that I don't think he dates just to date. I've only seen him in one serious relationship, and I've known him since elementary school."

Who lays in bed waiting for a guy they've never met to text them back?

I'm just about to pick out my shoes when my phone dings. My back goes stiff, and my stomach twists into knots. Why is this guy making me nervous?

I draw in a deep breath, preparing for whatever I'll find on the screen. I can't help but chuckle and shake my head when I read it. Holden: Took you long enough. Aria: You seem so sure I would message you back. Holden: Well, I know you've seen my pictures. Well, that was short-lived. Who is that into themselves? Not my type. Aria: Wow! Cocky much? I think I'll pass. Goodnight.

I know the chances of making it big are slim. Ask any young boy what their dream is, and most will tell you the same thing: to be a professional athlete. That wasn’t always the case for me, but it is now,

The summer before college, everything changed. My life was turned upside down in the worst of ways. I emotionally shut down that year, and it’s been my pattern ever since. While I may not be able to protect myself from pain, I can save others from me. If I don't let people in, I can't hurt them, and what's more, I can't lose them.

I said yes without question, which is completely not like me, I now feel like it's because I’m destined to meet this girl. As lame as that may sound, I can’t shake it, and after I saw one picture, I fucking felt her in my bones.

While I may not know her, I know she could never be a quick fuck. For starters, there's the speed at which she almost wrote me off last night for simply messing with her. She clearly doesn’t take crap, which means she’s one of those girls who makes you earn it. But more importantly, I don’t think I could give her that if she wanted it. I don’t think she’s the girl you get out of your system in one night.

Coach has always told me he thinks out of all the pitchers he’s coached over the last decade, he believes I have what it takes to actually get drafted straight to the big leagues. While that’s nice to hear, it doesn’t mean shit unless it happens.

Baseball may not have been my dream, but I’ll be damned if I don’t see it through now. I doubted that I would get to this level, that I could come this close to a draft, but now that I’m here, I’m consumed by it, and I’m drowning in my pursuit to live the dream. Hopefully, the dream is worth it, and my ghosts can find peace.

My issue is, I’m about to burn out, and I haven’t even started. Baseball hasn’t been fun for me in a long time, and because I never wanted to be an engineer, I watch the hours pass by on the clock every day at work and feel like I’m trading my soul for the security of a 401k. I feel like I’ve just been surviving, and now, it’s not enough. I need to feel alive. Fuck, I wish I could just feel something, because I’m tired of roaming. I wish I could figure out who I am, but I lost that privilege, and now I live for others.

"Why are you still outside when clearly you have a damn good reason to go in?" I allow a half smile and let his words marinate before I respond. Truth is, I have no good reason to be stalling, but for some reason, I know the minute I walk through those doors, shit is going to change for me, and I haven’t decided if that’s something I can handle. If anything, the last few years have taught me I can’t handle much. All I’ve managed to do is lose. I lost my best friend, myself, and maybe even more. Not sure if I need to bring anyone else into my orbit.

I had every intention of meeting her tonight, but now that I’m here, it seems like the worst idea I’ve ever had. I’m the last thing that girl needs. Hell, I’m the last man any girl needs.

He is painfully beautiful, and when he says, "Hey pretty girl," in a deep, smooth timbre, I swear my heart almost beats out of my chest.

He is all man, with a perfectly chiseled jaw, broad, muscular shoulders that stretch the fabric of his cotton shirt, and hands that any woman would love wrapped around her throat. I’m not even into being choked but fuck if I wouldn’t let him try.

There is no way in hell I could ever keep this man’s attention.

"Well, Holden, as fun as this has been, I think my friend is ready to leave. Kristine can’t be mad. She wanted us to meet, we met, now, if you’ll excuse me—" Grabbing my wrist, he stops me from exiting the booth, and I swear it feels like a jolt of electricity runs up my arm and through my veins. My eyes immediately zero in on his hand atop my arm, and for a second, I believe he felt it too, because his eyes are trained to the same spot before they briefly crash back into mine, stealing my ability to move.

This is so not good. I’ve never experienced this type of attraction to someone in my life. Sure, I’ve heard it exists, but for the most part, I thought it was something Hollywood made up to sell movies. Who doesn’t swoon all over a hot guy that seductively fawns all over the leading lady the first time he meets her? This is absolutely absurd, and I know it. The problem is, I’m not good at stopping crashes before they happen.

Taking the beer, I spin it in my hands before picking at the label and trying to tamp down my ugly, misplaced thoughts. "Damn, I should have asked if you liked beer. What do you want? I'll change it out." The sincerity in his voice should be enough, but it doesn't stop my stupid mouth from asking. "Is there a reason you bought me a light beer?" I regretted the words before they even left my lips. Without pause, he shakes his head before saying, "Honestly, it’s been a minute since I bought a girl a drink, and I was hoping my favorite might be yours too." He spins his bottle so that the label is facing me and, sure enough, we have the same beer.

"Is he hot as hell? Girl yes, I’m not blind. Do I like him? Doesn’t matter. I’m not the girl he’s looking for tonight." I gesture my hand toward her friends before adding, "So if any of you want to take your shot, be my guest." I’m expecting them to start with fifty questions, but instead, they all just stand there looking at me. That’s when I realize they’re not looking at me but rather past me. When I turn my head to see what’s so amusing, I find Holden propped up in the doorway with a shit-eating grin on his face. "So, you think I’m hot as hell? I can work with that." Great. Now I’m completely mortified.

My sickness is good at stealing all the better parts of me, and that's precisely what it was doing inside with Holden. It was picking me apart, and in doing so, I felt like Holden could see all the parts of me I hid from the world.

This man is going to wreck me. I feel it in my bones.

It won't matter if I give him one night or ten. He’s the man you never get over. The one who, if you don’t marry him, will forever be in the back of your mind as ‘the one that got away’, your ‘what if’.

If I turn around and head back toward the bar, I’m giving up whatever alone time this is right now. While it may be drenched in silence, it’s some of the best silence I’ve ever had.

It’s a connection I never could have imagined were I not living it right here, right now. I was meant to meet him. Yes, I am unequivocally attracted to this man, but I also feel like he is mine.

"Pretty girl, you’re going to have to stop looking at me like that." Drawing my head back in confusion, I ask, "How am I looking at you?" This is my lame attempt at trying to play it cool. I know I’m looking at him like a lovesick fool. "You're looking at me like you don't hate me as much as you've led me to believe."

Bending down he says, "Climb on." He wants me to get on his back. "Holden, that is not necessary. I can walk. I’m fine." Looking up, he thins his lips, holding back a smile before saying, "I’m sure you can, but maybe I want another excuse to touch you." I think my heart managed to do literal flips in my chest at that.

When he stands with ease, I don’t miss how he hikes me up higher onto his back and squeezes my thighs a little tighter than necessary. Damn it. I’m so turned on. That’s when a whiff of his cologne hits me, and I’m a goner. The man smells salty fresh. His cologne has hints of what I know are bergamot and patchouli because they remind me of the beach.

"Are you smelling me, pretty girl?" His face is suddenly next to mine, and it takes me a minute to calculate how that happened. Oh my god. I was so entranced in his smell that I leaned into his neck to get a better whiff. Lightning, please come down and strike me dead now. Quickly, I pull back before saying, "Pfft, no. Why would I do that?" That earns me a chuckle before he says, "Too bad. I kind of liked your face nestled into my neck." Yeah, me too.

from my experience, wearing a cross, displaying a cross, or even tattooing a cross on your person typically means there is a more profound purpose behind the display than faith alone. Sometimes faith, and faith alone, is the sole driver, but more often than not, it’s because a person has experienced pain, tragedy, or deep loss that has touched the depths of their soul in a way that can only be represented by a symbol meant to reference something not of this world.

This has been one of the fundamental problems in all my relationships, romantically or otherwise. I presume to know what the other person must be thinking based on how I’m feeling. Right now, I'm telling myself there is no way the hot-as-sin man sitting across from me feels a morsel of the attraction or connection that I do. I’m turning this man who doesn’t want to let go of my hand while driving into the bad guy, simply by overanalyzing our shared silence.

When Connor came strolling out of the bar with two beers in hand, just as I started heading in the direction of Hagerty's, he asked, "Have you changed your mind, bro? Let me guess; you didn't miss that ass when she came out, did you?" His comment was innocent enough—no big deal—but the salty taste it left in my mouth by the insinuation that Aria was just a hot piece of ass gave me pause. I wanted to say, ‘don't fucking talk about my girl like that,’ but I didn't, because one, she's not my girl, and two, I don't know if I want her to be. I'm not the guy she needs.