by KJ Bell
James hugs me and says hello to my parents. Erinn hugs my mother and then me. With tears, I tell her I love her and if she ever needs anything to call me. She hugs me again, and says, “He loves you.”
I smile and hold her close.
Battle does love me. I know it, but he doesn’t love me enough to move beyond his pain. He doesn’t love me how I deserve. And even knowing that, I’m determined to wait. To keep my promise to Evelyn. I’m not giving up without a fight. He needs time to get past losing his mother. I know him well enough now to know once he’s over his heartbreak, he’ll miss what we had. Like Grammy said, a love that’s true cannot be swayed, not even by one’s fear.
I skip the reception following the funeral to save myself the torture of being ignored by Battle.
My heart’s endured enough for one day.
For over two months, I’ve lived without a heart, without the love I crave, and without keeping my promise to Evelyn. Seventy-five days I’ve tried to keep my head above water, but I’m drowning in misery. I can’t swim fast enough to find a way to the surface.
The first couple of weeks, I called Battle several times a day. I showed up at his house and camped out on the front steps. He cut ties cleanly, and as easily as if he never knew me. I remember what Tucker said about how one day I’d be begging Battle to come back, and he wouldn’t even remember my name. I refuse to think Tucker was right about Battle.
I haven’t given up hope completely. I cling to the moments when I saw love in his beautiful blue eyes, and believe one day, he’ll want me back. I know he will. My parents and my friends have all tried to convince me otherwise. Especially Marty and Ginger, who’ve spent time with him. They say he never asks about me and has returned to his old ways.
I’ve spent a significant amount of my time with Wyatt, driving him to appointments and hanging out as friends. He’s now walking on his own again with the help of a cane. I don’t know if it’s the accident or me leaving him that changed him, but he’s different. His priorities have changed. I suppose a near death experience will do that to a person.
When I’m alone and hurt, I wish Wyatt had changed before I fell in love with Battle. Before I promised Evelyn I wouldn’t give up, because as I drown in heartache, all I want to do is give up.
New Wyatt makes me laugh and looks forward to seeing me. His previous peeves about how I dress or who my friends are, don’t rear themselves in ugly words. He’s become the man I always wanted him to be. I like new Wyatt a great deal, but not enough to give up on Battle. Not yet.
Today, I’m hanging out at his house and watching movies. We eat pizza and talk about the past. After the movie ends, Wyatt looks at me with concern. The way his eyes work back and forth over mine worries me. He’s going to say something that hurts, and before I can ask him not to, he says. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
“Wyatt, please. Don’t do this.”
“Don’t what? Tell you how sorry I am? How much I hate seeing you miserable? How much I miss you? How I want you back? It’s been months. He gone and I’m right here. I’ve changed, Faye, and I know there’s a part of you that still loves me.”
“There is a part of me, yes, but I’m deeply in love with him. I’m not willin’ to give up, yet. He’s still hurtin’. Losing his mother was devastatin’.”
“You once told me how a partner was someone who could be there with you to support you through the struggles. Why doesn’t that apply to him?”
I can’t hurt Wyatt with the truth; how I love Battle exponentially more than I ever loved him.
“I don’t know, Wyatt. It’s different.”
“It’s not if you stop tryin’ to deny he’s gone, and accept that he isn’t comin’ back. Think about it.”
“I can’t.” I get up off the couch and collect my things. “I have to go.”
He doesn’t try to stop me. I close the door without saying goodbye.
Marty answers the door and I enter her apartment, grateful to see Ginger is over. I sit on the couch and tell them about Wyatt’s confession.
I’m hurt when they both agree that I should move on. I catch Ginger flipping over a magazine, and the glance she shares with Marty.
“What?” I ask, reaching for the magazine.
“Faye, you don’t want to see…”
I turn the magazine over before she finishes. All of my hope for a future with Battle crumbles. Rider’s Monthly outdid itself. Above the picture of Battle surrounded by half naked girls, the title reads, “One Time Champion on the Outs. Woman, Booze, and the Demise of Battle McCoy.” Real classy.
“This is trash,” I shout, tossing the paper on the coffee table.
“He hasn’t won since he left you,” Ginger says.
“Are you blamin’ me for that?”
“No, of course not, but he’s fucked up. I don’t know if it’s you, or his mama, but you should stay clear of him.”
“He needs me.”
“He’ll only hurt you,” Marty says, patting my knee.
“He already did.”
“Then why do you want to go back for more?” Ginger asks.
I think about the stages of grief, as I have many times since Evelyn died; shock or disbelief, denial, bargaining, guilt, anger, depression, and finally acceptance or hope. By the looks of the cover of Rider’s Monthly, he’s hit the depression stage.
I look Ginger directly in the eyes, and say. “Because I’m waiting for hope.”
Three weeks pass and hope never arrives, not even a faint glimmer.
I’ve come to terms that I’ll never be able to keep my promise to Evelyn. Knowledge that haunts me in my sleep.
I agree to a dinner date with Wyatt to celebrate his being cleared to drive again, although, I make it clear I’m not ready for anything romantic. He takes me to a nice Italian restaurant, and over dinner, I have to admit old feelings surface.
On the drive back to his house, where I left my car, I question if I want to continue my fight for Battle. Grammy said when you find the one that gives you butterflies, never let him go, but Battle was never truly mine to begin with. She also used to say life has a way of working out exactly as it’s supposed to, and maybe it has.
Maybe breaking up with Wyatt, finding Battle, Wyatt’s accident, Evelyn dying, all lead me back to where I’m meant to be.
Maybe it’s time I stop fighting.
Wyatt opens my door and I step out of his SUV. His closeness stirs emotions that have been buried since I met Battle. Warmth spreads through me as I glance up into his soft green depths. The wind blows his hair, and I take a breath as his head lowers.
“Wyatt?” a woman with long dark hair calls, approaching from the sidewalk.
“Madeline,” Wyatt says, his voice tainted with confusion. “What are you doin’ here?”
He ambles toward her, leaving me at the SUV.
“I heard about the accident, I wanted to see you. Am I interrupting something?” she asks.
“I’m just returning from dinner," he tells her, without letting her know she is interrupting something. His second chance.
She smiles, her perfect white teeth glowing under the lamppost. “I’m moving back to Kansas City. I should have never turned down your proposal. I miss you.”
The air whooshes out of my lungs as I sag against his SUV. His proposal? What is she talking about?
“What?” he asks, more out of shock than seeking an actual answer. “It’s been eight months. I haven’t heard from you.”
“I know and I’m sorry.” She continues, only I’m too busy calculating the math to hear her. Roughly eight months have passed since Wyatt proposed to me with a ring two sizes too large. I bet it fits her perfectly.
How had I been such a fool? My skin burns with anger, but my heart sinks.
“You bastard,” I yell, marching toward him. “You proposed to me eight months ago with a ring that was meant for her.” Madeline stays quiet when I shoot her a look. I step up close to Wyatt. “Tell me I’m wrong, Wyatt?�
� He looks away, and the truth is out. “I hate you!” I scream and run to my car.
“Faye, wait, please,” he yells, but I jump in my car and slam the door. I watch him in my rearview mirror as I drive away, before I round the corner and he disappears.
My phone rings. It’s Wyatt. I don’t answer. There’s nothing he can say to make what he did okay. I can’t go home and be alone with my thoughts. I can’t go to Marty or Ginger’s because they’re in Nebraska this weekend with the tour. I turn down a familiar street and park in front of the house I grew up in.
I need my parents, the two people I’m certain actually care about me.
My mother answers the door in her bathrobe.
“Oh, Faye, honey.” She takes me in her arms and guides me to the couch.
I sit and try to calm my tears. My father has gone to bed, and my mother makes tea. She lets me talk for over an hour before she says, “I know you’re upset, but what Wyatt did is in the past. I think if you’re forgivin’ him for the past, this instance should be included. He’s changed, and I’m sure he regrets it.”
“Don’t,” I shout. “Please don’t defend him.”
“Let me, finish,” she says sternly, using a tone I haven’t heard since I was a teenager. “Just because he’s changed, doesn’t mean he fits into your future, especially when your heart clearly belongs to another man.”
“A man who doesn’t love me back. Who will never love me back.”
She brings my hand to her lap. “If you think Battle doesn’t love you, then you’re as blind, as he is dumb.”
“Mom.”
Her cheeks color as she laughs. “Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Then you go and fight for him.” She pats my hand before returning it to my lap.
“I’ve been fighting for months.” I hang my head.
“No, baby girl. You’ve been trying to forget for months.”
“He won’t answer my calls.”
“You remember when I once told you your father had cold feet?” I lift my head and nod. “You know how he got over it?” My brow knits, and I shake my head. “I didn’t give him any other choice.”
I make the drive to Nebraska in under four hours. I park in front of the arena, and walk to the back parking lot, navigating the sites, and the crowds, until I spot Cooper’s motorhome. I glance around, finding most of my friends, but I don’t see Battle. It’s three in the morning, and I assume he’s inside.
Austin shoots up from his chair and stands in my way as I stride to the door. “Now ain’t a good time, Faye.”
My gut twists, knowing he means Battle’s in bed with a girl. “I don’t care if it’s a good time. I came here to talk, and I’m not leavin’ until he hears me out.”
Marty tries to pull me away. I yank my arm from her grip and open the motorhome door. In the recliner to the right, I see a blonde woman’s naked back. I feel sick. Bile burns in the back of my throat. I want to collapse into tears, but I keep walking toward them.
“What the fuck, Faye,” Scooter yells from behind the woman.
With my hand over the side of my face, I cover my eyes, apologizing as I pass them to the bedroom. I knock, but Battle doesn’t answer.
“You might not want to go in there,” Scooter says.
I ignore him, inhaling a deep breath, and tell myself no matter what I see on the other side of the door, I love this man. I’m not leaving here until I tell him. I may also remind myself that one goes to jail for assault.
The door opens and I’m engulfed by a feeling of relief. He’s sprawled out on top of the bed, belly down, butt-naked, but alone. I close the door and lock it, before I lie down next to him. I nudge him several times, but he’s down for the count.
The bathroom door opens. I glance up, meeting eyes with a petite blonde. She stares at me, and I stare back, asking, “Who are you?”
“Who the hell are you?” she asks, chomping her gum like a cow chewing its cud. I stand, looking her over. She wears tight jeans with cowboy boots, and a red flannel, tied at the waist. Her thick makeup is applied perfectly and her lipstick matches her shirt. “I’m the girl he brought back here tonight, so you should probably leave.”
I smile, taking a step closer to her. “But he didn’t sleep with you, did he?”
“He did, too,” she insists, smacking her gum more aggressively.
“Hmm. You’re not a great liar,” I say with confidence.
“Why do you think I’m lyin’?” she asks, tapping her foot.
“One; you’re dressed, including your boots. Two: You hair isn’t trashed. Three; You’re lipstick isn’t smeared. Four; you aren’t sweatin’, and five: if you slept with him, you wouldn’t be sneakin’ out of his room, because you’d be tryin’ to hold on to him.”
“You his girlfriend?”
I shake my head. “Nope, just hopin’ to be.”
“Well good luck. My girlfriends and I have been followin’ the tour for a while, tryin’ to hook up with him, but he’s usually too drunk. Tonight, he finally asked me to come to his room, and then he passed out two seconds after we walked in. He’s a loser.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
A full blown smile overtakes my face as she stomps out of the room. I get up and lock the door again. He’s not a loser.
He’s mine.
“Faye. Faye, wake up.” My eyes open in darkness. I glance up to Battle’s face close to mine. In the dim light coming from under the door, I make out his blue eyes that I’ve missed so much, it’s painful. Next, I get a whiff of his alcohol laced breath. One match and the motorhome would go up in flames. “What are you doin’ here, Faye?”
I reach down into the pocket of my jeans and pull out the dice I brought with me. “I want to play dice.” I hold them up and smile.
He doesn’t. His brow furrows before he rolls to his back.
“When did you get here?” he asks, his voice full of worry.
“In time to throw the buckle bunny outta your room,” I say, not masking the hurt in my voice or pretending not to feel it.
“Nothing happened.”
“I know,” I say. He’s so busted. If he didn’t care about me, if he didn’t love me, he wouldn’t have said anything.
“You should go.”
“Play dice with me, and then I’ll go.”
He turns on the side lamp, and I cover my eyes until they adjust. I sit up when he does, feeling victorious. He’s unshaven, with deep circles around his eyes, and he’s put on boxers. He looks as miserable as I feel. After an annoyed sigh, he glares at me as he takes the dice from my hand and rolls a twelve. I roll a seven.
“Are you glutton for punishment?” he asks with a devilish grin.
“Yes,” I answer, sliding the dice over to him. He rolls a two. I win and look straight into his eyes. “Do you love me?”
Truth is our game, and this is our moment. He can’t lie.
His gaze lowers as his hand works through his hair. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You didn’t answer.”
“I can’t.”
“Look at me, Battle. Why won’t you look at me?”
“Because it hurts. Every time I look at you, I tell myself to stay away. It’s the best thing for you.”
“Why?” Conflict reflects back at me from the depths of his impossibly blue eyes. “What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m afraid of changin’ you. I can’t let that happen, because I’m in love with who you are.”
Tears slip, burning my skin as they flow continually down my cheeks. I knew he loved me. I move closer to him, until our foreheads join. “You’ve already changed me, McCoy. I love you, too. You taught me love can be a surprise. You’ve taught me life isn’t planned. You’ve also taught me that a love like ours can’t be ignored. You can push me away all you want, but my heart will always be yours.”
“Unless you die. What then?”
There’s the truth I already knew. “We’re all dyin’, and we on
ly have a short time to find happiness. Do you want to be miserable because you’re afraid?”
“No,” he admits, and turns his body away from me. “I want my mother back.”
“I want her back, too, but it’s doesn’t work that way, and I think she’d want you to be happy.”
I pull on his arm, urging him to look at me and when he does, the smile he delivers gives me hope. The final stage. We’ll be okay.
“I can’t believe you drove all the way out here, and … ah, shit,” he says, his smile sliding off his lips. He reaches for the dice. I’m confused, but I roll, a six. He sighs, but smiles when he rolls a five. “Ask me,” he says. It takes me a minute to register what he wants me to know. I don’t think I can get the words out. “Please. Ask me.”
“I … I don’t care.” I say, placing my hands on top of his shoulders.
“Ask me,” he insists, and I know he’s not going to let it go.
My hands fall from his shoulders as a searing pain shoots through my heart. Do I care? Will knowing change how I feel? I draw circles on my jeans with the tip of my index finger, searching for the courage to say the words.
He grips my chin and lifts my head. “Ask!”
“Have you been with anyone else?” I ask quickly, resisting the urge to cover my ears.
His fingers slide along my jaw, until he cups my cheek. He holds my gaze and answers, “No.” I exhale and can’t hold back my smile. “There have been girls, but I didn’t sleep with any of them. That girl last night followed me in here. I told her to beat it, and I passed out.”
Her account was a little more dignified, but I believe him. “She looked pretty disappointed, claims you asked her.”
He shrugs. “She looked like you enough, I thought I could forget. About the time that door closed, I knew I was wrong.”
I jab him in the arm, laughing. “When are you gonna learn, I’m not so easy to forget?”
“About eight hours ago.” He grins, shaking his head.
“Promise me no more runnin’. I love all of you, Battle McCoy. Even the parts you don’t think are worth lovin’ because they make you who you are. Don’t push me away when you can’t talk about somethin’ and don’t ever say you don’t love me. If you need space, tell me, and if you need to lean on me, I’ll be here to hold you up. I’ll always be here.”
