Chapter Text
The music is still thrumming low and steady like a pulse as Bradley finishes the dregs of her whiskey sour. Laura throws her head back, laughter falling from her lips as gently as the snow falls outside, blanketing the world in white. Her smile is dangerous in the way the sun is on a late July afternoon, so white hot and bright it can burn any tender skin left exposed to it, but still feels too good to hide from. Bradley knows she’d do anything to put that smile on her face again and again.
Laura’s laughter melts away but she continues smiling, swirling her last sips of wine.
“I’ve actually been wondering when I’d run into you.”
Bradley aches to reach for hand again. Instead, she meets Laura’s eyes.
“Oh really?”
“Mhmm.”
“And why’s that?”
And Laura’s on the verge of being honest, too honest for the time and the place, she thinks. Then again, the vulnerability she asks of others has never come quite as easy for herself.
“To tell you how impressed I am.”
It’s not a lie, no, more of a redirection, an alternate route she can take this conversation down. Bradley raises her eyebrows.
“With you.”
“Oh, please.” Bradley scoffs, reaches over and bats at her shoulder.
“No really. The work you did last year was…” her eyes take on a far off quality, like she’s searching for the right word and can’t quite seem to find it, and then she’s shaking her head back and forth. “Bradley, it was extraordinary. Really.”
She reaches out and wraps her fingers around Bradley’s hand resting on the table between them. For a moment, Laura Peterson seems to be speechless, at a loss for words, something that, on principle, Laura Peterson is not. And the thing she can’t put into words are her thoughts, her feelings, about work she did. Bradley is breathless.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it. You brought a vulnerability to those pieces…I can’t even imagine…” She smiles. “You brought me to tears—more than once!”
A pause. She’s softer now, “I was so proud.”
Bradley’s heart thrums in her chest like hummingbird wings. And she’s terrified to even breathe, move, to do anything that will shatter this moment they are sharing. She’s flushed, blushing under the softness of Laura’s gaze and the warm grip of her fingers on her own. She squeezes back, tongue thick in her mouth.
“Thank you.” She can’t quite meet Laura’s eyes. “When Hal needed help…the pandemic made it almost impossible to access care. And I have all the resources in the world! I just…I knew I couldn’t be the only one watching someone I love suffer like that.”
Laura knows that when Bradley feels something deeply, she either shrinks herself down under the weight of it all, molds herself to accommodate its shape, or she uses it like fuel, shoveling it onto a fire, stoking the flames, building them higher and higher until she is charging through crowds, electrifying any witness to her quest for truth and justice and to finally be heard. Watching her talk about this now, Laura can see her grow timid under the praise she is doling out but the fire that clearly drove her over the last year glows bright. It’s this fire, the one that helped her document COVID’s effect on those with addiction and mental illness with such compassion and honesty, that is so obvious in her voice, in her eyes.
“There are so many people out there who needed help, just like Hal, and didn’t know where they could turn. I couldn’t stand by and watch our healthcare system fail them without trying to, I don’t know”—she’s gesturing with her hands now, voice passionate—“ do something.”
Laura is leaning in ever so slightly, chin resting in her hand, eyes glued to the way Bradley’s tongue runs out to wet her bottom lip.
“And after I posted that video looking for Hal everyone knew something was up anyway. There were headlines everywhere so I just…”
And it was like she suddenly remembered where she was, who she was talking to, and realized that her fire had burned a bit too hot once again, the pot boiling over onto Laura, like it did all those months ago when her brother went missing from her and Bradley had went missing from Laura, voicemails stacking up like dirty dishes on her room service cart. So she stiffens, averts her eyes, tries to pull her hand away.
Laura won’t let her.
“It was beautiful, watching you do that.” She smiles again, close-lipped and sincere. “You took what you were going through and used it to help others.”
Laura pauses, weighing words on her tongue, words that have surfaced often these last months when she’s thought of Bradley’s work, of Bradley herself. She throws caution to the wind.
“That’s your superpower, you know?”
Bradley’s eyes shoot up in surprise. She laughs, holds Laura’s gaze.
Then a soft and disbelieving, “What?”
“You don’t let things beat you.” Laura says, simply. (She says it so simply, like a fact.)
Her dimples flash when Bradley squeezes her fingers, tight. And Laura looks away, something bubbling up from her stomach into her throat that she can’t let herself feel, not here, not now. She lets go of Bradley’s hand, finishes her wine.
A quick glance around the room shows table tops with sticky rings of condensation sitting empty, crumpled bills and used glasses left behind. A busser dressed in all black loads two rocks glasses onto a tray, shoving a signed receipt into the pocket of her apron. And Bradley marvels at the way time’s runaway rhythm—always so constant, so demanding of her mind and heart—seems to melt into silence when she’s with Laura. She has a way of finding herself lost in the present with her, firmly grounded by her laugh, the raise of an eyebrow, a featherlight touch. She grins.
“Looks like we’re closing down another bar.”
Laura looks around them and laughs.
“How does this always seem to happen?” Laura asks, smile wide, head shaking.
“Mmm,” Bradley hums. “Time always seems to move a little too fast when I’m with you.”
And here’s a familiar feeling, building there in Laura’s chest and in the rose of her cheeks, one that’s been missing—Bradley has surprised her. And she revels in the joy that washes over her. Laura shakes her head again.
“You are—” and a server walks up to their table, cutting Laura off.
“Thanks, ladies. Have a great night.” A card and receipt are placed near Laura’s elbow, a pen follows.
Laura turns from her to their check, and it’s Bradley’s turn to shake her head. Laura, apparently, was capable of surprise herself.
“When could you have possibly slipped your card to them?”
Ignoring the question, Laura busies herself calculating the tip, then scrawls her name in large, looping cursive. Her face remains impassive.
Bradley can’t help but smile. “You’ve always been too smooth for your own good.”
She’s rewarded with an eyebrow raise, the quirk of a lip. “You’d be the first to complain.”
And Bradley’s rolling her eyes, laughing before the words really sink in and her brain can grab hold of them, run away with them. Because, now that this unexpected time together is coming to an end, Laura Peterson will go on her way to live a life of suave confidence and elegant women on her arm and Bradley will have to let her. She had let herself settle too deeply into the comfort of Laura’s company, had forgotten she couldn’t keep her close, not for long, before watching her leave. Because she loves her, she has to.
Bradley pushes her arms through the sleeves of her coat and exits the booth, putting space between herself and Laura as they make their way towards the front door. Laura trails behind Bradley, wrapping her wool scarf once, then again around her slender neck. She holds the door open, wind whistling past as Bradley steps outside.
Laura tumbles out behind her, the wind whipping the ends of her scarf into flurries around her shoulders. She reaches out to Bradley, gentle fingers wrapping around her forearm and pulling her back towards the restaurant’s front door. A small outcropping of brickwork blocks the wind and Laura smiles down at Bradley. She realizes that her hand has lingered too long now on Bradley’s arm and allows it to drift back down to her side, smile fading, eyes looking anywhere but her face.
“This was nice,” Bradley says. “I had a nice time.” The slightest pause. “A really nice time.”
“So did I.” Laura’s voice is warm.
Then, there’s a pause where Laura searches for a way to draw this out, stay this close to Bradley for just a bit longer and Bradley can’t seem to loosen her grip on the thread of hope she’s been tugging at all evening. They hold each other’s gazes as they always have, gentle and reverent, fragile porcelain. And Laura can’t stop her heart from beating just a bit faster in the same way Bradley can’t stop herself from remembering a dropped paper cup, coffee-stained shoes, an innocent nightcap, and everything that came after.
Laura breathes out a small, nervous laugh. Then, says, “I should probably call a car.”
Bradley’s smile wavers, imperceptible, except that Laura knows that her on-air smile doesn’t have that extra little line that appears by the corner of her mouth when she honest to god lights up the room. The same little line that Laura loves to kiss. Loved to kiss. Bradley’s eyes are trained on the snowy sidewalk.
“Can I give you a lift?”
Bradley’s eyes snap up.
“I actually got my own place a while back. It’s just a few blocks from here.” She gestures up the street.
“Let me walk you home.”
And Bradley’s smile is dazzling.
“Okay.”
“Lead the way,” Laura says, extending her left arm to usher Bradley out into the cold.
They fall into easy step, side by side, elbows brushing every now and then as they make their way through the snow. It’s quiet, the way the world is when the snow is fresh and everything outside seems to be frozen, gauze draped over the world, an old Kodak photograph.
Bradley’s mind wanders, runs and tumbles and jumps as they leave matching footprints down Front Street. She replays their evening over and over, analyzing every word, every gesture and suddenly it strikes her how funny it is that Laura had offered to walk her home when Laura is the only person who has ever made anywhere at all feel like home. She’s never had a place that was safe and all her own, not beholden to anyone else, until now. But maybe that’s okay if she gets to have Laura around instead. Or at least…she got to, before. Before distance pulled their heartstrings just a bit too taught, and then the damage was done.
Their final phone call, the last time she had heard that voice, usually so smooth and warm, sticky like honey, was strained, grave, meek.
“You can’t keep hiding things from me.” Each word seemed to be catching on the lump in her throat, coming out of her mouth just a little broken.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Laura! I’m fucking sorry, okay?” Knuckles white as she paced the length of her bedroom, a path well worn.
“Nothing! Bradley, I don’t want anything from you.” Her voice was raised, and she could feel the vein in her forehead, pulsing and hot. She took a deep breath and her bottom lip began to quiver. The fight left her, shoulders wilting, “I just want you .”
Bradley inhaled sharp, throat tight, eyes burning.
“You don’t want me.” She whispered.
There was a long pause. So long that Bradley wondered if they’d lost each other. Then she heard something small and broken on the other end of the phone, almost a whimper. She’d never heard Laura make that sound before.
“Bradley,” she choked out. “God, Bradley, why won’t you just…” and her breath hitched. “Just fucking let me love you?”
Then, Laura broke. Though she angled the receiver away, Bradley could still hear her sobbing. It was muffled and tears welled in her eyes because here Laura was, still trying to protect her, never breaking her promise to keep her safe, trying to spare Bradley the sound of her pain. Pain that Bradley had caused. And she was always doing that, causing pain. Hurting people. People she loved.
Loves.
The wind whips snow, tiny pin pricks across Bradley’s cheeks. Laura wraps her scarf around herself once more all while itching to wrap it around Bradley’s bare neck instead. It’s red, irritated from the cold and the snow. Her skin has always been delicate, Like a flower , Laura would tease, pulling unscented laundry detergent from a shopping bag on her kitchen island, winking.
Suddenly they’re stopping outside an old brick tenement turned loft apartments. Bradley’s hair blows this way and that as she turns to Laura, begins to speak.
“Thanks for—”
And Laura can’t let it end here, on her front stoop in the wind and the snow. So, she cuts her off.
“It’s fucking freezing out here!”
Bradley closes her mouth, brows slightly furrowed, arms crossing over her chest. Laura smiles. She takes one, two steps forward, leaning into Bradley.
“Let’s do this inside.”
Bradley looks up at her, searching for something she must eventually find because a small smile flickers, like a struggling flame, at the corner of her mouth. She nods her head, beckoning Laura with a wave of her mittened hand. Laura wants to reach out, grab the thickly knitted wool and never let go, beg forgiveness for anything and everything. She wants to take off the mitten, roll up her sleeve and kiss the inside of her wrist, trail the tip of her tongue across her radial pulse. She wants to take her inside, take off the rest of her clothes, and run her hands over every square inch of smooth, flushed skin. Instead, she follows Bradley up the steps.
Inside, the lobby is warm and quiet. A concierge nods in their direction as they come to a stop near the center of the room. Bradley removes her mittens and reaches out a hand to hold Laura’s forearm, her thumb brushing up and down the sleeve of her coat.
“Thanks for walking me.” Bradley’s chin dimples as she looks up at Laura, close-lipped smile blooming across her face.
“Of course.” She smiles back.
There’s a beat, one where Bradley is trying to commit to memory every detail of this moment, of Laura’s presence here in her life again, if even just for a three drinks and a walk through the snow, a beat where Laura can’t shake the deep sadness that settles back in her bones at the idea of their time together ending. She hadn’t realized how entirely Bradley’s absence had festered inside of her, how heavy it was to carry, until this moment, faced with letting her go. Bradley pulls her hand away. Laura finds her voice.
“Could I…walk you up?” She points up towards the vaulted ceilings, meeting Bradley’s eyes. And for the second time tonight, Laura is flustered. Blushing, she looks to the ground.
Bradley’s grin is wide and bright and she waits for Laura to meet her eyes again. She looks sheepish, not a way Bradley is used to seeing her. She laughs.
“Yes, of course!” She laughs again, reaches out and takes Laura’s hand in hers. Bradley turns and leads her to the elevators.
They ride up in relative silence, hands still clasped between them. Laura squeezes, she squeezes back. The doors chime, open, and Bradley exits first, walking backwards and reaching for Laura’s other hand, tugging her down the hallway. Laura is watching Bradley, a small smile on her face as Bradley squeezes her hands. She scrunches up her nose, winks at Laura, still walking backwards and pulling Laura along. Laura feels a chuckle rumble through her chest. They come to a stop outside a door clad in Christmas wreath, a red welcome mat with the word “Merry” written on it in white cursive script sits at their feet.
“Very festive.” Laura comments.
Bradley lets out a laugh. “I’d invite you in, but to be honest it’s a complete disaster in there.”
“That’s okay. I wouldn’t want to keep you any later. Don’t you have to be up at 3?”
And there Laura goes again, ever caring Laura, always thinking of others, thinking of her. Bradley had almost forgotten what it felt like to have Laura try to care for her, put her first. Oh, god. She thinks. I’ll never be able to give this up . Bradley’s inhale is sharp, tears filling her eyes at the thought. She reaches a hand out between them, falling short of actually touching Laura, not sure she quite deserves to say the words that are about to fall from her lips. A shaky breath leaves her.
“I miss you.”
Her voice is wet and thick. The hallway is quiet as her words settle around them. Then, she takes two steps forward to bury her face in Laura’s neck, holding her body tight against her.
Maybe it’s the warmth of Bradley’s hands on Laura’s back or the smell of her hair, so familiar and light, all around her or maybe it’s the present tense of that statement, I miss you , but Laura feels a desperate tug in her chest. She feels like she’s inhaling Bradley, the way she’s gasping into the fine blonde hair against her lips. Laura clings to her, eyes stinging. She can’t get the words out to respond, a sob stuck in her throat; all she can do is nod her head up and down, pulling Bradley closer still.
They hold each other there, in the hallway, as the snow continues to fall just outside. Hands roam up and down backs, over hips and through windblown hair. Breaths become longer, slower, even.
“Don’t let go yet.” It’s desperate and quiet against Laura’s ear.
“Okay.” She whispers.