Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

I keep my eyes closed, tears immediately gathering behind my eyelids, and nod as I hold my breath. His strong arms wrap around me, and the side of my face meets his warm chest. My arms are now locked between us, which is perfect. I remain stiff, and his hold tightens, making me relax into him.

“Is this okay?” I feel his words reverberate in his chest as his chin comes to rest on my head. He doesn’t rub my back, doesn’t loosen his grip. He remains steady in his hold.

“Yes,” I whisper. But what I want to say is This is perfect. This might be the best hug I’ve ever received. It would only be better if you rocked me a little. And as if he can hear my thoughts, Rafael releases a long breath and starts to sway gently from side to side. I could fall asleep like this, standing in the middle of this dirty, empty alley, listening to his strong and steady heartbeat.

Rafael doesn’t pull away first like my mother always did when I asked her for hugs as a child. He doesn’t ask if he can let go, either. He just waits. He waits for me to decide when I’m finished with his embrace, and though my breathing is back to normal and I know my shaking hands are now steady, I selfishly want to stay in his arms.

He smells good, and I hadn’t expected it, but we fit together quite naturally, with the way my head rests on his chest, and his arms wrap around me. I like it. I like being held like this. I like being held by him, even if it is a very new experience. One I didn’t think I’d get with anyone other than Robert once we took that next step.

With that sobering thought, I lift my head and step back. Rafael lowers his arms to his sides, and I notice his coffee cup on its side, a few feet away from where we stand, coffee spilling from the open lid. “Oh no, your coffee, it’s?—”

“I don’t care about the coffee. Are you okay?” I flinch, noticing his voice has taken on a harder edge. My thoughts take flight, wondering if he’s upset with me for asking about the coffee or maybe he’s annoyed by my rant of an apology. He must notice my reaction as he huffs out a breath. “I just, I don’t like seeing you upset. That,” he points to the discarded drink, “is nothing. You’re a person. With feelings. And your feelings matter far more to me than a cup of coffee. Even if it’s the best cup of coffee in LA County.”

I chance a look at him and find his eyebrows are angled downward. He has such an expressive face, and I wish I knew what all of them mean. I think he’s trying to lighten the mood with the joke about the coffee being the best in the county, though it’s not a joke at all. I’m certain it is the best. My brain snags on three words. Your feelings matter.

The turmoil in my body slowly starts up again. I’ve been so wrong about this man. For three and a half years, I’ve chosen to only see the worst in him. I’ve chosen to ignore any of the good that has so easily poured out of him. I bring a hand to my stomach as it tumbles with the guilt of my actions.

What else can I have been wrong about?

“Hey.” His hand reaches for mine, but he pulls back just before his fingers make contact. For a moment, I wish he would feel comfortable enough to touch me freely. That our relationship, or whatever this is, wasn’t so strained that he needed to ask for permission to do so. “Talk to me. Don’t worry about getting it right; just say whatever is on your mind.” He takes a step closer, not touching me, but definitely in my space. It feels safe here, in this circle of trust we’re slowly building around ourselves.

“I’ve been horrible to you, and that realization is eating at me. Maeve and Elaina have been telling me for years that you’re the nicest person they know. I told myself it was an act because my gut feeling is almost never wrong. I’ve spent years honing this internal algorithm that hasn’t led me astray. Or at least I thought it hadn’t. It was a survival mechanism for people who seldom let their true intentions be known. I told myself I could see the real you when they couldn’t. I was wrong, Rafael. I don’t like being wrong, so I’m feeling… something I can’t name. That along with guilt and maybe embarrassment over this little breakdown happening in an alley.” I take a couple of breaths and gather my next words. “How did you know to hug me like that?” I can’t help it. The curiosity takes over. It always does. And where I would normally hold back my questions, I remind myself that I’m trying to be more me without the mask I’ve always worn, and I’m starting to feel like that’s okay to do with Rafael.

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and looks down at our feet, nearly touching. “At first, I really just wanted to. Hug you that is. But then I also thought of my niece. She’s uh… she’s on the spectrum. She’s only five and newly diagnosed, but she really likes it when I hug her like that and rock her a bit when she gets upset.”

I remain silent, letting the words sink in. Rafael has someone in his life with autism. Someone else. And he wanted to hug me. I must stay quiet for too long because he rocks back on his heels and continues talking.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed that it’s what you’d need. I just didn’t know what else to do, and you had this look in your eyes, like you were about to cry, and, fuck, if you cried, I’d cry too, and that’s never helpful, so I just?—”

“It was perfect. You were… Your hug was perfect. Thank you.” We stand, both unmoving, as the world seems to buzz around us.

Eventually he shuffles his feet. “Thank you for everything you said earlier. I don’t blame you for thinking whatever you’ve thought of me all this time. I was a bit of a jackass to you when we met.” He mutters something under his breath that sounds faintly like if, by a bit, you mean a complete and utter asshole of the greatest magnitude known to man.

A chuckle slips through my lips, forcing my muscles to relax into a smile. After this type of intense interaction, I’d normally feel tired enough for a nap. And I’m sure I could fall asleep if the opportunity presented itself, but I also don’t want to miss what’s next. Not when he seamlessly manages to make me smile after I’ve just been in tears.

When I look up, Rafael’s eyes are locked on my lips. The expression is another I’ve never seen. His cheeks take on a pink tinge I didn’t know was possible for him.

“You’re smiling at me.”

18/

date me up, machado.

rafael

As soon as the words leave my lips, the smile leaves hers.

Fuck.

I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have taken more time to watch the way her cupid’s bow stretches when she smiles. The way her eyes squint a little and how her freckles seem to dance over her crinkled nose. I missed the chance to savor it.

Charlie chews on her bottom lip, and I find I can’t tear my eyes away from that, either. It’s when she clears her throat that I finally look elsewhere, taking in the rosy cheeks and her lowered gaze, intent on the coffee cup at her feet.

“Thank you for saying all of that. I didn’t expect it, but I appreciate it all the same. I think it’d be nice if we could maybe forget all that shit in the past. Otherwise, I feel like we’re going to keep getting stuck in this uncomfortable place where we keep saying sorry to each other, you know?” I massage the back of my neck, aware of the tension building there, knowing all too well that if I let it, it’ll keep building until I can’t take it anymore. It’s been a while since I’ve had a migraine, so part of me feels like I’m due for one, and when this kind of tension builds, it’s a pretty safe way to guarantee I’ll have one. Like the last one. When things with Dad and Arthur really went to shit. Probably best not to think about that now, though.

“Yeah. I think you’re right.” She gives a tight-lipped smile. Twenty minutes ago, I would have been beside myself at seeing any kind of smile on her face, but this isn’t a real smile. Not like the one she just gifted me with a minute ago.

“All right, then let’s move on.” I crouch down, pick up her iced coffee, and extend it to her. It feels like a peace offering of sorts, a way to mark this new start to whatever the fuck this is. “Shall we?”