Set after the finale, Zoe has to choose between Wade and George and it's not as easy as she thought it would be.
Authors Note: This is intended to be a one shot, but if I receive comments asking for continuation, I promise more and ultimately more dialogue which I realise this is lacking. Thanks. xxx
He's staring at me and it's difficult for me to look back at him, and so I study the floor. I can't help but wondering how I hadn't noticed the antique looking, almost threadbare rug that lies beneath my bed, damn it's ugly. My fingers are weaving an invisible web of nervousness, and I know my lips are doing that thing where I mouth the words I want to say but without sound. Like sometimes, I just can't force them to pass the precipice of my lips. Even if I could, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say. How do I explain what just happened. I bite down on my lip, and raise a hand to trace the ghost left lingering there.
A cool breeze circles the air, dancing over my arms and leaving a trail of goosebumps that reflect the clear night sky I'm accustomed to sleeping under. This place has become my home, in the short time I've been here and even with the gossiping, and clear smear campaign of one particular local family.. I actually like it here. It's different from New York on a scale I can't even begin to comprehend, but I think that's why I like it so much. I don't want to mess this up any more than it already is, Lavon was right; I need to stop messing with him. This is it, I have to be honest.
I lift my gaze and he's moved, no longer lying down he's come to an upright position, has slipped into his jeans without me even noticing and he's making his way across the room, one arm reaching out for me and a breath catches in my throat. It's audible and comes out more of a gasp, and his eyes widen in confusion, I see it. He lets his arm fall back down, his fingers curling into a fist as his brow furrows and he begins to speak.
'Zoe, what's going on? Who was at the door?' his words fall effortlessly from his lips, inquisitive, demanding and as I remain silent I notice him becoming even more confused. He angles his head to the side, and widens his eyes; a silent repeat of his earlier words and my mouth opens slowly. Still… Nothing.
He steps towards me again, his bare feet silent against the wooden floor and again he is met with resistance. I grab the sides of the sheer robe I'm wearing and pull it around me tighter, my arms wrapping around myself in a hug I find I'm desperate for. Ironic, right? Until a few minutes ago, I had just that. Wades arms around me, warmth, and a peacefulness I could have happily slipped into the night with and then, then there was George; who does what he always does and sweeps in and out of my life on a wind that would rival Chicago on a winters day.
I hug myself harder and close my eyes, my breathing still trying to find an even place between fast and slow and all of a sudden I begin to fall. My knees buckle and my hands fall from their hold, palms flattening as they find the ground and I try to steady myself. My eyes still closed I shake my head when I feel his breath on the back of my neck, its warm and inviting and I almost let myself fall into him. He's kneeling in front of me and he's cursing out loud while trying to figure out this situation, and I just need a minute. I need to be able to find some kind of clarity and so I lower myself completely to the floor, pulling my knees into my chest I begin to rock slowly, back and forth. My head resting on my knees as I mutter the words that had become almost a mantra for me in my life so far. Inaudible and I intend to keep them that way, I rock until I regain some kind of hold on myself, the shaking in my arms and legs begins to still and my breathing has found reprieve. Glancing up I catch his eyes, those tired, worried eyes and I know he's seen pain in his life. I can see it in the right hand corner, just by the shard of green that's crept into his blue ocean, there's a teardrop he's never shed and I hope to god, what I I'm going to tell him isn't going to cause it to fall.
'George…' the name falls from my mouth with an ease I've only known in dreams, the soft syllable dancing across my tongue like the sweet kiss he left me with a moment ago. I can't see it but I feel the corners of my mouth turn upwards as his image comes into my mind, tall and built like a modern day Adonis and with a heart I'd want to be loved by forever, and that smile… that smile could induce weak knees even in the steadiest of tight rope walkers. I know I'm starting to get lost in thoughts of George because as I momentarily focus my gaze ahead of me, I see knees. Wade has stood upright as is now running his hand through his tousled post sex hair and he looks… no, I can't. I do like Wade but now there's George, an actual possibility of being with him, he came to me… and now I… I don't know, I'm so lost.
Wade doesn't say anything, I hold my knees tight, the blood draining the colour from my hands until I'm sure they match my already pallid face. I wish I had it in me to take control of this situation, to get to my feet and tell him exactly what happened. About New Orleans, about our night of near marital bless, even if it was pretend. About his kiss and about how George showed up moments ago, full of promise and chance and told me that there was going to be no wedding, and that him and me, we needed to talk. I wish that I could swallow my ability to lie, and tell him the truth, that opening that door and having Georges lips on mine felt like… belonging. Like finally coming home. But I couldn't because with guys like Wade, sometimes the lies are the only way to spare them pain and I really don't want to hurt him, more than I know I have. And so I swallow the truth, and it tastes like cinnamon, pears, and the soft hint of Georges aftershave, and I begin to speak.
'I don't think I can do this Wade, I'm sorry… I'm so, so, sorry.' I know this means nothing, not to Wade, not to anyone who has ever felt themselves in this situation but it's all I have, all I can give for now. He shakes his head at me in disbelief and his mouth adopts a snarl I know will stay around longer than the last but I deserve it. I should have never fallen into this trap; I should have spent the night cuddled up in bed listening to the storm and drowning in my own sadness, instead of tripping that switch and asking for trouble. Because that's what happens when sparks fly, trouble is imminent.
He leaves with the bang of the door and I'm left sitting here, I can feel tears burning at my eyes but I hold them in, I've always been good at that, disappointment and heartache were the foundations upon which I was raised. Instead, I shakily made my way towards my bed, studying it momentarily, the tousled sheets an indicator of the mess I'd made and I took a deep breath and considered my situation, my options.
It would take absolutely none of my resolve to turn and run, leave the house and make my way to his, mud streaking up my legs and rain pouring down on me, and none of it would matter once I told him everything. I could come clean, and explain to him my situation, with him… with George, and I know he would look at me displeased and give me another of his speeches about me falling for 'the golden boy' and he would go back to pretending like nothing happened. We'd fall back into this tango, this back and forth in a relationship filled with tension and pretence. But he doesn't know this hurts me, that ever since I've been here in Bluebell Alabama, alone and frightened, Wade Kinsella has been my rock, my Dixie, southern comfort on nights when I've felt nothing more than a spare piece in an already completed jigsaw puzzle.
I drop my hands to the soft white linen, fingers running along the folds that hold the shape of our earlier activity, and I feel my hand curl into a fist, grasping the sheets I begin to pull them from their place until its stripped bare, and the offending material is bunched up carelessly on the floor. Typical Zoe Hart, when life hands me real life situations, I make metaphors out of thin air. I scoop the tangled mass of indiscretion into my arms, and the scent is overwhelming, he's still lingering there, nestled safely between sheets and eyelids, and even as I walk towards the front door and open my home to the elements, throwing the sheets out onto my porch, I feel a light breeze sweep past me, and its whispering his name.
The house across the lake is coming to life, lights glare brightly and are accompanied by a back beat of a metal band I stopped listening to when I passed out of my Goth phase at seventeen. I bite at my lip and nod my head in acceptance, tonight I will not blow his generator, tonight I will not lead him on ask him over here again. Tonight I will give him the space, and time he so obviously needs, and deserves and so I retreat. I stagger back into the house, and straight to the bedroom, without even considering dressing the bed, I crawl onto the mattress, and curl up in ball. I close my eyes and fight back the burning sensation that is almost over powering me, inhaling I catch the feint smell of Cinnamon and summer nestled between the springs and fabric, and George reappears in my mind's eye. I can taste him on my lips again, and I allow myself to savour his kiss, my fingers running shakily over my soft smile. I don't know how this all happened. He was supposed to be married by now, that would have made this easier, much easier. I could have talked myself out of loving him if there was a constant reminder of his unavailability nestled snugly on his hand. I could have talked myself out of it all, it would have taken time but I could have done it, and then he shows up at my doorstep, and kisses me and I'm suddenly considering the possibility of magic, or miracles because that's the only explanation for his decision.
George Tucker, handsome, loving, strong, caring and so it seems, as crazy about me as I am about him.
And as I close my eyes, my lids heavy with regret and heartache, possibility and hope the tears rolls down my cheeks and I give way to sleep. I can deal with this tomorrow; after all it's a new day, a fresh start. But I can't help but wonder, if I'll ever find my way out from being between a rock and a hard place.
Again, Thanks for reading xxx