The Love We Resist

“And in my obituary, it will read: On the night before her 19th birthday, Bianca Morrison fell from her second story window.”

Dahlia snorts where she stands below on the raised deck in my backyard. “Quit being so dramatic, B. It's just like Cheer in highschool. How many times did you stand on somebody's shoulders without breaking a sweat?”

My knuckles are turning white from the tight grip I have on my windowsill. “Tommy didn't do Cheer with us!” I point out in a whispered shout.

“Bia.” Tommy's strong hands give my ankles what is meant to be a reassuring squeeze. “Just let go. I'm not going to let you get hurt.”

“Obituaries aren't for the hurt, Tommy. They're for the dead. Dead!”

His shoulders shake beneath my feet with his laughter before they once again still. “I'm not going to let you get dead either.” There's another squeeze against my ankles before he releases one of them to lightly smooth his palm up and down my shin. “C’mon, Bia,” he coaxes, “You can trust me.”

I know I can. If there's anyone in this world that I can always rely on, it's Tommy.

When his hand resumes its supportive position on my ankle, my fingers finally release their fierce grip. I brace my palms against the bricks and walk them down the wall while Tommy slowly crouches.

Once he's squatting low enough, he releases an ankle and offers me his hand to assist me in stepping down.

“I made it!” I declare triumphantly once my feet are safely on the deck.

Dahlia smacks my shoulder with wide eyes. “Shh! If your dad catches us after all the hassle of getting you out of that fucking window, I'm going to be the reason you need an obituary written!”

Tommy scowls while he straightens from his crouched position. “Hit her again, Dahl,” he challenges. “We’ll see who ends up needing an obituary.”

Dahlia laughs and slugs Tommy in the shoulder next. She's clearly been pre-drinking. But Tommy’s used to her wild antics, and he doesn't seem bothered by them when he's the target of her swinging hands.

“Alright, let's get outta here. You ready to ring in your birthday with a night you won't forget?” Tommy asks, and the three of us step off the deck to walk between our two houses to the street out front.

“Don't you mean a night she will forget?” Dahlia moves behind Tommy and grips his shoulders to jump on his back. Her arms wrap around his neck, and she affectionately presses her cheek against his, while Tommy brings up his hands to hook her toned thighs around his torso.

Her long, blonde hair cascades over his shoulder, and she squints her bright blue eyes playfully. “That's sort of how drinking works, TJ. And B…” She moves her gaze to where I'm walking next to them. “Your dad does know that the legal drinking age in Canada is nineteen, right? It's even eighteen in some provinces. You should have just told them you were going out.”

“He's sober, Dahl, not stupid,” Tommy mutters while rolling his eyes. “And she won't be nineteen ‘til after midnight.”

“Yeah…” I squeeze my hands together as a guilty feeling tries to override my excitement. “He doesn't really care whether it's legal or not. He’d disapprove, regardless.”

“You don't have to drink, Bia,” Tommy says quietly. “I won't be.”

“Like shit, she doesn't,” Dahlia nearly shouts at him, forgetting about her earlier demand to stay quiet. “You're the designated responsible one tonight. Let the birthday girl have some fun.”

“Ah, yes,” Tommy says as though he's remembering important information. “You can't have fun without alcohol, can you?”

“See? Now you're catching on.” She swings her legs along his hips and points to a parked car a little ways up the street. “There's Davis. He's driving us there. Giddy up, TJ!”

My eyes meet Tommy's, and we share a smirk before he breaks out in a slow jog toward the car.

Dahlia can be… well, a bit much, and we both know it. She unapologetically speaks her mind, and she has a tendency to be the wildest person in the group in any given situation. But she's been my closest female friend since I moved back to the house next door to Tommy’s, a little over two years ago. The only person who rivals that friendship is Tommy himself.

And Dahlia and Tommy are close too… in every sense of the word. They're not exactly dating. Not exclusively, at least. But I know they mess around.

It's kind of weird for me, considering they are my two closest friends and they're not anything alike. Where Dahlia is outspoken and rarely thinks before she acts, Tommy keeps his emotions to himself and calculates every step before he takes it. Dahlia is the life of the party, always ready to lose control. And Tommy, who always had sigma status in highschool, tends to turn down alcohol and keep his wits about him.

Oh, and, it's also weird for me because I am one hundred percent, without a doubt, completely in love with him.

I didn't plan to drink as much as I did. But now, here I am, dancing like there's no tomorrow in a crowd of sweaty bodies while loud music pumps through the speakers all around the downstairs floor of the impressive house.

Two arms snake around me from behind, pulling me back against a body that bumps and grinds against my own. “You are so unbelievably hot. Do you want to take this upstairs?”

I don't know... Do I?

I've never been particularly interested in Davis before. He's a bit of a try-hard, but he sure knows how to dance. Maybe he'd have some good moves in the bedroom too. It is my birthday, after all, and I've been in a dry spell for a long time. Since Dylan, my boyfriend when I lived back in Toronto, to be exact.

My eyes find Tommy's across the room. He's standing near a table where a game of beer pong is taking place. An undoubtedly intoxicated Dahlia is hanging off his shoulder, pressing her breasts into his arm while she uses his sturdy frame to remain upright. We hold eye contact, until Dahlia tugs down on his shoulder and stands on her tiptoes to speak to him over the thundering bass. He tilts his head to the side for her to speak into his ear, and his gaze drops from mine to give her his attention.

I'm not the only one feeling the loss from Tommy's attention being on somebody else. There's a group of girls eyeing him up from the open-spaced kitchen. But then, when is there not half a dozen girls vying for his affection whenever he's in a crowd?

To start, he’s well over six feet tall. And if that wasn't enough to turn heads his way, his face belongs in a magazine. Even when he's not smiling, his features put together a man that women want to throw themselves at. His Greek nose, full upper lip, thick eyebrows over dark hazel eyes, all framed in espresso brown hair that falls in subtle curls around his ears and over his forehead… Mm. And that's before you catch him smiling.

Fuck. Stop it, Bia. Stop it.

“Sure!” My delayed answer shoots out of me with overeager enthusiasm while I turn in Davis’ arms to face him. “Let's go.”

Davis momentarily looks surprised, but the expression is wiped away by the excited grin spreading across his face. “Really? I mean, uh…” His voice drops, turning low and husky. “Yeah. Let's go.” He takes my hand in his and leads me through the swarm of dancing bodies to the wide staircase on the far side of the room.

We make it up two steps before a warm hand catches my elbow, stopping me in my tracks with a gentle tug. I look over my shoulder, directly into the hazel eyes that had just been preoccupying my thoughts.

“Time to go home, Bia.”

Tommy's eyes flick to Davis, and if looks could kill, Davis would already be six feet under from the intense stare Tommy's giving him.

“Come on, TJ,” Davis groans. “Why the glare? It's not like I slipped something into her drink.”

Tommy points an accusing finger in his direction. “She's fucking loaded, Davis, and you know it. Real classy, man. Do better.”

Blame it on the alcohol, but I can't help the little giggle that slips out of me. In this moment, Tommy sounds just like his dad.

“Well, I didn't get her drunk,” Davis defends himself. He's still holding my hand in his, but he quickly drops it when Tommy zeroes in on the point of contact. “That was all Dahlia.”

Tommy ignores him while tugging on my elbow again, and I step away from Davis and down the two steps to stand at his side. “Say goodbye to skeevy Davis, Bia.”

Davis throws his hands up with frustration, causing me to giggle again with a small shrug.

“Well, thanks for the ride earlier, Davis,” I offer. I have zero complaints about Tommy stopping things between us, but I almost feel bad for the guy. I don't think he's any more sober or clear minded than I am.

“Earlier?” Tommy echoes while shooting another glare in Davis’ direction.

“She means the damn car ride, TJ. I drove you here,” Davis explains in exasperation, and Tommy’s tense shoulders relax.

“Oh. Right.”

I'm still giggling as I give Davis a little wave, and Tommy slips his hold from my elbow to my hand to begin leading me to the front door.

“Honestly, Bia,” he grumbles while holding the door open and guiding me forward to walk ahead of him. “Don't encourage him. He's been dying to get in your pants since the beginning of twelfth grade.”

“You mean, I could have made his dreams come true? Maybe I should go—”

“There's our Uber,” Tommy cuts me off, and then mutters under his breath, “Fucking Dahlia and her vodka mixes.”

“Where is Dahl, anyway?” I question, glancing around for our gorgeous, feisty blonde friend.

Tommy rests a hand on top of my head, ensuring that I duck low enough to climb into the backseat of the car. “She's on her way home in her own Uber.”

I move to the far side of the car to make room for him and slouch down to lean my head against the seatback. “You didn't want to go with her?”

“Nawh.” He pulls the door closed behind him, and then reaches across me to grab my seatbelt. “I'm not Davis. Not my style to sleep with drunk girls.”

Once he's fastened my seatbelt, he sits back and gives our driver my address while buckling himself in.

I scoot closer to him and lean my head against his shoulder. “This was a fun night. Thanks for breaking me out.”

“No problem.” His head rests lightly against mine.

When we pull up in front of my house, Tommy thanks the driver and helps me out of the car. With a supportive hand at my elbow, he assists me up the stairs of the front porch and walks me to the porch swing.

“I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to hoist you into your window, so you're going to have to use the front door,” he explains once we've both taken a seat on the swing. “Hopefully it doesn't wake them up.”

“That's okay,” I answer. I've already accepted my fate. “They're bound to realize I'm hungover tomorrow morning anyway, but it was well worth it.”

He smirks as he walks his feet back along the porch floor to set the swing in motion. “We’ll see if you feel the same way when your head is killing you tomorrow. Make sure you drink a couple glasses of water before you go to sleep, okay? It'll help some.”

“Yes, sir,” I answer with a mock salute.

Tommy groans quietly and gives his head a slow shake like he's trying to clear the rough sound from the back of his throat, and an involuntary shiver prickles up the back of my neck. But then he sits up a little straighter and says, “Well, at least you're still having fun now. I was worried you might end the night by puking,” which leads me to believe I imagined the whole thing.

“The night’s not over yet,” I joke, and he laughs while pushing his shoulder into mine.

“But really,” I continue, “thanks again. For bringing me out but also for taking me home before I did something stupid.”

“Something, or someone?” he asks pointedly.

I giggle and bring up my hands to cover my face. “I'm not going to live that down for awhile, am I?”

He shakes his head. “Davis. Really, Bia? That's where your drunk mind takes you?”

If only he knew where it'd really like to take me… But that's not happening. We're not happening.

“I’m sorry that you had to babysit my drunk ass and didnt get to go home with a pretty girl…”

“Pfft,” he blows out a breath of air through closed lips. “What are you talking about? You're the prettiest girl I know.”

My stomach dips while my heart swoons, but reality catches up to my drunk delusions, and I remember who Tommy is to me. Years ago, he might have meant those words in a way that wasn't solely platonic, but not now.

“Plus, it's your birthday,” Tommy adds while planting his feet against the porch to stop the swing. “I couldn't leave you to your own devices tonight, or in the chaotic hands of Dahl for that matter.”

“‘Cause you'd leave me any other night, right?” I grin while he stands up from the swing.

He turns around to face me and takes my hands in his to pull me to my feet. “Not a chance.”

“I know.” I step in closer to him and press my forehead against his chest. Tommy may never be mine, not in the full sense of the word, but I've learned to gladly accept what we already have. “You've always got my back.”

“And you've always got mine.” He drops my hands to envelop me in a tight hug. “Happy birthday, Bia. I'll see you in the morning, or whenever you manage to get out of bed. Don't forget to drink water.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble into the soft cotton of his black t-shirt. The copious amounts of alcohol and hours of fervent dancing are catching up to me. I could fall asleep standing, right here in Tommy's arms.

“Okay,” Tommy chuckles, “let's get you inside.” He drops an arm along my waist and turns me to the door, walking alongside me as though he doesn't trust me to make it in by myself.

When we reach the door, he doesn't open it right away.

“Goodnight, Bia.” Warm fingers lightly graze my cheek as he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, and I turn, instinctively following his touch.

My eyes go wide as my mouth lightly brushes against Tommy’s warm lips like slippery satin against smooth skin.

Tommy's eyes flash. My breath hitches. His arm momentarily tightens around my waist, fingertips pressing into the small bit of exposed skin on my hip just above where my jeans rest.

But then he's stepping back and saying with a chuckle, “That was supposed to be your cheek,” as he drops his arm away from me, making me realize that my mind must have been playing tricks on me. There's no way that accidental kiss had any effect on him.

“Sorry!” I exclaim.

He shrugs with a grin and reaches for the door, quietly swinging it open and gesturing for me to go inside. “No worries, Bia. That's on me. Didn't realize you were going to turn just then.”

I step through the doorway, and hope as I turn around to face him that the colour in my cheeks doesn't give away the sea of emotions coursing from my heart, through my veins and rushing into my head.

Get a hold of yourself, Bia. Tommy doesn't see you that way… Not anymore. He can't. You can't.

Footsteps sound behind me, and Tommy's grin rapidly disappears as he looks past my shoulder.

“Uh, hey,” he mumbles while reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “Before you get too mad, I just wanna say, I'm sober, and I had my eye on her all night. You know I’d never let anything happen to her, Uncle Theo.”

Yeah… I may have failed to mention this earlier, but Tommy is more than my best friend and next door neighbour… He's also, technically, my cousin.