We Were Once

by Scott, S. L.

  Did he not love me the same?

  * * *

  I knock.

  And then again.

  I won’t leave New Haven until I get answers.

  A soft knock becomes banging to match how crazy I feel inside. Movement stills me, fists still pressed against the glass. The familiar face has my heart racing. “Patty!” I tap the door anxiously. “Patty!”

  Sadness drags her eyes down as she works her way around the counter toward the door. Taking on her pain, I feel my stomach tighten in worry.

  She unlocks the bolts and pulls the handle. “What are you doing here, Chloe?”

  I was ready to throw my arms around her, but I suddenly feel uncomfortable, the desire for flight heavy in my belly. Looking back at the car waiting for me, Kenneth is scrolling through his phone oblivious to the fact that I’m crumpling here on the sidewalk. When I turn to Patty, I reply with a shaky voice, “I’m looking for Joshua?”

  Her tears fall as if the name alone caused them to flow, her petite frame almost lost in the doorway. Hollow eyes. Deeper defined cheekbones. The signs of distress are apparent. Gripping hold of the door, she leans on it for support. “You don’t know where he is?”

  “No.” This conversation is all wrong, my bones laden with dread of the outcome. Holding my phone up, I reply, “He won’t answer my calls.”

  “Josh is in jail,” she bites, her tone sharp.

  “I don’t . . . what?” I wade through her anger but still can’t piece the words together. “He’s in jail?”

  In my mind, the past six days I’ve been awake stream on replay—no calls or texts, leaving me to wonder what happened when I needed him most.

  He’s in jail? “Why?”

  “How do you not know?” Bloodshot eyes stare at me as if I have an answer.

  “I’m sorry, I . . .” I stumble over the words when I realize she’s mad at me. “I’m confused, Patty. Is he okay?”

  “No.” She runs her hands over her eyes just as she starts crying. “How will he survive this? How will I? What will I do without him?” Her voice raises with every question she asks. I stand there dumbly not understanding. “What will he do when he gets out? Your dad is destroying his whole future!” she shouts. “Why?”

  “My father? What does he have to do with anything?”

  Her hands fall to her sides, and she stares at me in disbelief. “Do you really not know?” Shaking my head again, she continues, “Your dad didn’t tell you how he had my son charged with stealing a vehicle, reckless driving, kidnapping, for God’s sake, and a whole other slew of charges?”

  Breathing becomes difficult, so I cover my injured rib to steady the broken bone. “They wouldn’t do that. Not to me. Not to Joshua.”

  “They did!” she yells. “Leave, Chloe. Unless you’re going to fix this, leave me alone. But more importantly, leave my son alone.” Stepping to the side, she adds, “You’ve already ruined his life. Don’t torture him anymore.” The door is slammed in my face, leaving me stunned.

  Ruin his life?

  Oh God. He’s in jail . . . her words replay. “Your dad didn’t tell you how he had my son charged with stealing a vehicle, reckless driving, kidnapping, for God’s sake, and a whole other slew of charges?”

  No. No, my dad wouldn’t have done that. Would he? Why? It doesn’t make sense.

  Tears fall once again, my heart broken. I thought I knew what pain was. But this . . . for my father to hurt me so deeply . . . Would the man who can’t tell me he loves me go out of his way to destroy the man who can?

  Whether he intended to destroy me or not, he just did.

  31

  Chloe

  I told myself I’d hold it together. I’d be strong and control my emotions like I used to do before I met him. But two hours aren’t enough time to cry myself out of the guilt I feel.

  I’ve left messages for my dad, but he’s in surgery.

  My mom insisted on coming to New Haven with me. I told her no because I didn’t want her to witness Joshua breaking my heart, if that happened. I wish I had let her come, after all. Although I haven’t told her about Joshua being in jail, I don’t think I can. I have to do this alone.

  After finally figuring out where Joshua is being held, I sit here, waiting, struggling to restrain the pain, the guilt, the confusion I feel for him.

  Our eyes meet the moment the door opens, and all that I’ve repressed comes flooding forward. Seeing the man who has been your strength, the blood that flows through your veins broken is devastating for the hope held inside. I stand, my hands pressed to the glass, hoping to feel his heat and our connection coming together once again.

  The kind eyes I fell in love with are harder, the future I once saw inside now gone. Joshua’s hands align with mine, grappling for the same things I need—the life we once had. Tears fill his eyes as he stares into mine. Dropping his head, I see the shame he carries, the shame my family put there.

  I’d break this glass if I could take it away. Helplessness feeds into desperation and I move as close as I can, pushing my cheek to the unyielding surface. When he does the same, my strength is regained.

  We both pick up the phone, our eyes locked on each other as we sit. “I would never hurt you, Chloe,” he says with a shake to his tone I’ve never heard before, as if he has to convince me of his innocence. “Not on purpose.”

  “I know . . .” My hand returns to the glass, silently begging him to return his. “I know you wouldn’t.”

  The tears are gone, another emotion taking over, one I’ve only witnessed one time before—when we had a fight over . . . I don’t even remember all of it. My grades. My dad. My bad mood. I didn’t want him to walk away. He stayed. He was there for me when I needed him most. But in the moments prior, when I thought I was losing everything, the life, the love left his eyes. “But I have to now.”

  My hand slides down the glass, the resistance the only tangible thing I can hold onto. “What?”

  “I need you to leave, Chloe, and never return.”

  “Need?” My hands start shaking, the receiver not safe against my ear. Surely, I heard him wrong.

  “Want.” The response is clear. True to his expression and unbreakable glare, the black swallows the warmth I always loved. “I want you to leave.”

  “Leave . . . Leave you alone?” I’m spiteful of the petty tears that reveal the weakness bleeding into my tone. He doesn’t mean it. I repeat in my head. He’s mad. I’m hurt, but we didn’t cause this mess. “I’ll fix this, Joshua. I promise. I’ll get you out. I’ll do whatever I have to. This is a mistake. Everyone knows that.”

  “No one knows it. That’s why I’m here.” He rubs the bridge of his nose, and his hair falls over his forehead, the soft waves I always loved harsher, hanging straight down. “It was a mistake to date you. It was a mistake to pretend we could be together, like we were special, and our worlds wouldn’t collide in tragic ways, in ways I was warned about.”

  Warned about? He was warned about dating me? “You don’t mean that.”

  Anger causes his chest to rise and fall rapidly. “It was a mistake to love you.”

  “But you do. You love me. And I love you, Joshua—”

  “It’s Josh, for fuck’s sake!” he yells.

  The guard taps the divider with a baton. “Settle down or—”

  “I got it.” Joshua—Josh snaps back, sitting again. “It was fun, but nothing more. Love isn’t real. I’ll prove it to you. Go to school. Go home. Become a doctor. Find the man worthy of you. That’s not me. I’m just the fucking delivery guy, but I won’t be at your beck and call anymore.”

  His best efforts to make me hate him won’t work. That’s his defense, but I see through him. He’s caged and lashing out. I won’t let anyone take away the man I love. “I’m on your side. I’ll always be on your side. Just like you’re on mine. Remember? I love you, and you love me, so spew all the hate you want, but I won’t believe it.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you bel
ieve, Chloe. You need to leave me the fuck alone.”

  I fight through his hateful words to find the man who he is underneath. “And if I don’t?”

  He slams the phone on the hook and drops his head into his hands. Running his fingers through his hair, he tries to steady his breath, but I can tell he’s struggling to walk away from me. I’m the woman he chose to move in with. The one he shared his bonsai with, shared his secrets when I asked . . .

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “It’s not wise to wear your heart on your sleeve.”

  “Even if I only wear it for you?”

  “Yes.”

  I don’t let that memory derail me. He didn’t mean it. I know he didn’t.

  He finally looks up and takes the receiver again. “Listen to me. You’re a good girl, Chloe, but you’re not the one for me.” He can’t look me in the eyes when he continues, “I know you want to believe in fate, but you’re not my destiny. Go back to Yale and have a good life.”

  “A good life? Without you? How is that even an option?”

  “It’s the only you have. I go before the judge tomorrow, so unless you’re willing to argue in my defense, I have no other options than to plead guilty.”

  “No, you can’t. Fight the charges. Fight for a trial.” The sound of the chair skidding behind me when I jump up echoes in the room, the palms of my hands hit the glass to get to him. “Fight for us. I’ll fight alongside you.”

  For a split second, an ounce of hope returns to his eyes. “If you’ll fight for me, then why did you say no before?”

  “To what? When?”

  Looking away in thought, he shakes his head. The momentum we were building, coming back together, is lost in confusion. “My lawyer contacted you—”

  “He didn’t. I’ve had my phone the whole . . .” Oh my God! “I got my phone six days ago . . .” I drop back into the chair, not wanting to see the truth for what it is. Could my father really have gone to these lengths? My hand starts to tremble when I ask, “Did he call before then?”

  “Your phone was on the ground. I found it. He called,” he starts, searching his thoughts. “Ten days or so ago. If you didn’t have your phone, who did?”

  We both know the answer, so I don’t voice it. A mixture of guilt and helplessness shreds the prospect of fixing this. “I had no idea you were here. You have to believe me. Not until I saw your mom a few hours ago. No one told me, or I would have been here as soon as I could.”

  The bob of his Adam’s apple is heavy, like the reality we’re facing. “But that doesn’t matter now.”

  “Yes, it does. We can fight this. Together, we can.” I show him my tattoo. “We’re anchored together, remember? Forever. I’m your anchor. I’m your other half. You’re my hope, and I’m your salvation. I’m yours, and you’re mine.”

  “Together forever?” The words come out as if it’s bitter to the tongue. “The tattoo is meaningless if I’m fighting to stay alive. Whether your dad fucked you over by taking your phone or not, you didn’t bother to find me when you woke up. Look at you. You’re well enough to travel to be here—”

  “I woke up to find out you had left five days prior. I was devastated and in pain everywhere, but the one thing they couldn’t fix hurt the most. My heart.” I look into his eyes, and it’s as if he doesn’t believe me. “I thought you hated me. I thought you wanted nothing to do with me anymore because my recovery was going to be too much to deal with.” I get choked up and try to catch my breath.

  “I was arrested outside the hospital when I was told to leave and not come back.”

  My heart plummets to the pit of my stomach. “I didn’t know. I called you, and as soon as I was well enough to travel to New Haven, I did. I went to your mom’s diner, Joshua . . . Josh,” I sob. I can’t be strong. I can’t keep my tears from sliding down my face. “But now I know the truth. I knew you wouldn’t leave me. I’ll submit a statement. Whatever you need, just tell me. Just tell me what happened. I’ll say anything, anything you want me to.”

  The warmth he once shared in his soulful eyes, ices over. “Anything I want? The truth, Chloe. You just have to tell them the truth.” A pinched wrinkle runs through his forehead. “What do you remember happening?”

  I hate that I’m disappointing him, so I tug every memory I’ve managed to pull from the deep well of my brain over the past week. “I remember the party. Drinking with you. Making love with you—”

  His hands grip the edge of the counter, seeming to keep him from leaving. “You don’t remember, do you?”

  The heartstring tethering us together snaps. I’m losing him. I can feel it. My plea comes fast as if time is running out. “I’ll find a doctor to help me, but that will take time. If you tell me, it might trigger the memories.”

  He pounds his fist down, and I watch as frustration courses through his handsome features. “This is my life! Not some fucking fairy tale. I’m looking at three years if I plead guilty.”

  “Don’t plead guilty. I’ll help—”

  “You can’t even fucking remember. So unless you talk your dad out of pressing these charges and now the county that’s siding with him, I’m going to prison tomorrow. What happens to my mom, Chloe? What happens to her diner? What happens to the dreams I fucking had?”

  One more time. One more to reach him. My hand goes to the glass as if I can reassure him, as if he’ll feel how much I love him, will feel it through the cold division. “I’m sorry. I’ll talk to him. I’ll do anything you need me to. Just tell me what to do.”

  “Get me out.” His hand ghosts mine through the glass. “Please.”

  “I’ll fix this.”

  “I have until morning to accept the plea deal.”

  In the darkest hour with two inches of glass between us, I feel his love again and cling to it. “I promise, Joshua.”

  By the time I reach the car, my legs falter under me, and the adrenaline draining from my body causes me to slump against the door. Kenneth comes around, wrapping his arm around my waist, and helps me inside. “You’re not well, Chloe.”

  “I’m okay.” I slide in, holding my midsection. My rib and body ache in recovery. My heart breaks from reality.

  From the front seat, Kenneth looks back, and asks, “Where do you want to go?”

  “Newport.”

  32

  Chloe

  I’m kept waiting, left alone pacing in my dad’s office. Every minute that ticks by increases my anger.

  This clinic, and his office specifically, used to feel like a second home. It’s where we’d bring my dad dinner if he had to miss holidays because of an emergency. It’s where I brought my letter when I got accepted to Yale. It’s where I interned last summer.

  I stand at the window not able to enjoy the memories because I can’t seem to reason through the lies to find the truth.

  The door opens, catching me off guard, but I’m still ready to explode. “Chloe? This is unexpected,” he says, not bothering to look up from the messages his receptionist must have handed him before he walked in. “You’re supposed to be in New Haven. Don’t tell me I wasted my time making those phone calls?” He dumps the papers on his desk as he moves around to sit. He finally looks at me. “You look pale. Are you not feeling well? Do you need me to examine you?”

  No greeting or how are you? His greeting lacks the sincerity of a father happy to see his daughter who wasn’t killed in a car accident. I barely receive the courtesy of good bedside manner, but maybe he lacks that as well. “What did you do?”

  “What?” he asks, typing on the computer. When I don’t respond, he adds, “I’m extremely busy, Chloe.”

  “I just came from the jail.”

  That gets his attention, but he rights his expression, making me realize he’s a master of disguise. “Are we playing this game all day, or are you going to tell me why you went to the jail?”

  “Did Joshua’s lawyer contact you?”

  His chair swivels in my difference, and
he sits back, clasping his hands on his lap. “Yes. He left a message.”

  “Did you return it?”

  “No. My attorney advised me not to. He did, though, and told him to stop calling. The damage may be done, but there’s repercussions that come along with trying to hurt my family.”

  Standing abruptly, I press the tips of my fingers against his desk until they whiten. “He was calling for me. You know he was. My boyfriend is in jail because of some crazy story you told the police. Joshua didn’t steal the car, and he wasn’t kidnapping me.”

  “Can you attest to that under oath because I was at the scene of the accident after the ambulance arrived? Let me tell you, no parent should see their child broken on the side of the road and bleeding. Josh Evans is reckless and a bad influence. But worse is that he has you convinced he’s a saint.”

  “He is,” I say, pointing at my chest. “He loves me, Dad, without care of what I can afford him or because I’m a Fox of Newport. Don’t you see? He would never purposely hurt me. Never.”

  “Then tell the police your version of the story. That should fix any damage done.”

  He’s playing games and I need the space. I move behind the chair, standing my ground from a new place. “You know full well that I can’t remember, but my heart will never forget how much he loves me or how much you’ve hurt me.”

  Waving his hand dismissively, he returns his attention back to the computer. “Pull yourself together. Hearts detour you down dead ends. Your relationship with him is going nowhere, Chloe. Let it go and let the courts deal with him.”

  Squeezing the back of the chair in front of me so hard, I might break it, I lean over, and say, “You mean let him go to jail for what I know he didn’t do? I wouldn’t be that callous even to my enemy.”

  “You don’t know what he did or didn’t do. I do. I saw the spite in his eyes when you got your car at the party. I’ve seen that look my whole life—jealousy and revenge.”

  “Revenge?” I feel like a crazy person talking to a wall. Pacing again, I say, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why would he want revenge?”