The feeling of something moving slightly wakes me. I feel someone’s arm pulling me closer and I sleepily wrap my arms around his neck. I crack an eye open to see Connor’s face. I close them again and drift to sleep, but wake when I feel him lay me on his bed. Connor fixes his blanket over me. Pushing my hair out of my face, he kisses my forehead.
“Get some sleep,” he whispers.
I try to smile in acknowledgement, but I doubt my face is even working, I’m that tired. I squint through bleary eyes at my brother whose behind Connor. He runs his hand over his buzz-cut. He’s so handsome, one day he will make a girl very happy.
“You’re going to sleep here tonight, okay, Addie?”
I don’t know if I manage to say anything before sleep takes over again. All too soon the sound of crashing and breaking rudely awakens me. I nearly fall out of bed. Rubbing the sleepiness from my eyes, I sit up. As soon as I take in my surroundings I notice that I’m in Connor’s bed.
The chaos outside his bedroom door sends goosebumps over my entire body. I know who’s out there. When his voice carries through the closed door, my body trembles. With a mind of their own, my legs swing out of bed and I’m suddenly standing next to the door. I pause with my hand on the knob. What am I doing? He shouldn’t still have this effect on me. I’m so angry with myself, I have to stop from punching a hole in Connor’s wall. I don’t care what’s going on out there.
I go back to bed, but pause mid-step when I hear another crash. I’m so tempted to open the door to face him, but the fear of him rejecting me again wins. So like the coward that I am, I pull the covers back. As I start to crawl into bed, Connor mumbles something, but I can’t make out any of the words from here. I should have stayed beside the door.
“Why is Ads here?” The man that invades my every thought ask too loudly.
Chapter Twelve
I gasp from the sound of my nickname on his lips, and the obvious threat in his voice. Connor mutters something that I can’t hear because Jax is now yelling over him.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S NOT WHAT I THINK? WHY THE FUCK IS SHE IN YOUR BED!”
Something hard smashes by the door and I’m out of bed, running towards the noise, hoping that Jax didn’t throw Connor into the wall. When Connor talks in his scary calm voice, I stop myself from turning the knob.
“I’ll let that pass, but if you try that again, your drunk ass will be on the floor. Now calm down and I’ll explain.”
Gah, the temptation to open the door is overpowering. I have to clench both hands at my sides to keep from reaching out. I lean against the door to hear better.
“She passed out on the couch. We tried to wake her, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open long enough to stand on her own two feet. LOGAN and I decided to just let her sleep here, instead of trying to get her back to her place when she was PASSED OUT,” Connor says with annoyance.
I can’t help the little giggle that escapes. I slap my hand over my mouth to keep from groaning. What did Jax expect? For Connor and me to be doing the nasty in here? Yuck! That thought alone makes me want to bleach my brain.
I don’t understand why Jax is so angry; he knows nothing between Connor and I would ever happen. I think of him as a brother. I get Jax wanted to come over here and hang out with his friend, but me being asleep shouldn’t stop him. It’s deadly quiet and I have a minor panic attack thinking I said something out loud. I’m relieved when Jax starts to talk, oblivious that I’m awake and hanging onto each word that falls out of his mouth.
“What happened to her?” he slurs.
It’s unmistakable that he’s drunk. I check the digital alarm clock. I’ve been passed out for a little over three hours. Connor asks the question that I’m dying to know. Thank goodness he can apparently read my mind right now since it’s not like I can open the door and confront Jax.
“What do you mean what happened to her? I just told you she fell asleep. Would you like to know the exact time? Or what part of the movie? Maybe instead of hounding me, you should be sleeping it off.”
I think Jax tries to whisper but fails. “How is she?”
Usually his raspy voice sends my blood into overdrive. It still does but for a different reason. Instead of turning me on like it usually does, I’m pissed off. Who the heck does he think he is? He can’t disappear from my life and ask questions about me. If he wants to know how I’m doing, then he can grow a pair and ask me himself.
“Why don’t you ask her for yourself tomorrow?” Connor asks him, reading my mind again.
Jax says something, but in his drunken state I can’t make out the words. I nearly groan out loud, frustrated that I can’t understand what he’s saying and that I care enough to want to know.
Connor snapping, “No Jax leave it alone. She’s asleep, and even if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t want to deal with you right now,” makes me leap back, panicked.
There’s shuffling and I know Connor has blocked the door. I fling myself on the bed, just in case Jax does come into the room. Connor’s right, I do not want to see Jax right now. He’s not in a rational state of mind. I lay down and try to steady my fast beating heart. Connor says something that I can’t hear, but I’m able to decipher my name. Please, Connor, don’t let him come in here.
I hear more shuffling outside then Jax pleading. “Please! I just . . . I need to see her, I won’t wake her up, I promise.”
“This is a mistake, Jax. You need to leave her alone.”
“I can’t.”
“Then stop playing games. She deserves better.”
“I know.”
Minutes tick by before Connor says, “Be quiet when you go in.”
That’s my only warning before I hear the click of the door opening. I feign asleep, hoping that Jax can’t tell I’m awake. My whole body feels on fire, just knowing he’s so close yet so far away. When he halts at the edge of the bed, my heart is thumping, ready to jump out of my chest.
What I wouldn’t give to open my eyes and watch him as he’s watching me. When his fingers brush over my face, it takes all of my willpower not to lean into his touch. I’m pathetic. He traces my cheeks, then slowly he runs his fingers through my hair, like he used to do when we were younger after I patched him up. My breath catches as he brushes his lips across mine.
Thankfully Jax is too drunk to notice. He gives me a lingering kiss on my forehead before leaving. I wait a few seconds to make sure he doesn’t return, but when their voices trail away, I know I’m good. I touch my still tingling lips. What the heck just happened?
I lay awake for awhile. It’s almost four in the morning when I hear Jax leave. I’m so lost in my own thoughts that I forget to feign sleep for Connor. I wonder if I should act as if I’m just waking up, but I know he won’t buy it.
Connor gives me a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, I tried keeping him out.”
“I know, I wish I knew what was going on with him.”
I scoot over in bed and pat the space next to me. He climbs in and raises his arm so I can cuddle into him. I feel mentally exhausted.
“Me too.”
I don’t say anything and relax into Connor. He dozes next to me and I lay awake with my eyes closed, thinking of everything and anything that involves Jax. I hate that I don’t know how to fall out of love with him.
“How much did you hear?” Connor asks, startling me.
“Enough.”
He lets out a deep breath but doesn’t say anything. He gives me a reassuring squeeze. I drift off to sleep in the comfort and safety of Connor’s arms.
I’m not gonna lie, this entire week I thought things between Jax and I would have been different. It’s not like I’m asking for much, I just want things to get back to normal between us. But nope, he’s been avoiding me even more, if that’s even possible. I just want our friendship back. Especially now with my brother’s surprise party this weekend.
After work I spend the entire day searching for the perfect present, but it’s tough choosing something for
Logan. He has more money than sense and whenever he wants something he goes out and gets it, which makes buying presents for him an impossible task. After spending two hours with no luck, I give up. I won’t find anything at these stores. I return to my apartment, considering the entire trip back if I should buy him football tickets to his favorite team. Crap! I can’t do that, that’s what I got him last year.
Ugh, times like these is when I could ask my mom’s advice. She was the best present-giver in the entire world. And then it hits me, I know what will be the best present for my brother. With a bounce in my step, I rush into my spare bedroom. When I’m standing outside the closet I take a few deep, calming breaths, knowing that I need to do this even though it seems like the worst idea right now.
Pulling open the doors to the closet, I see the box from my old life on the bottom shelf. I approach the box with shaky legs. I sit in front of it, but make no move to reach for it, not yet. I’m too afraid of what the memories will do to me. I hate that I know I need to do this. This is the only box I have from my old life. After the accident, this is the sole thing that I brought with me to New York. I’ve never been able to open it, and never been able to depart without it either. I have no idea what happened to everything else I owned. Logan took care of everything because I couldn’t. I was too weak.
Closing my eyes, I blindly reach out for the box and trace the pattern in the oak lid. I trace over the seashell imprints my mother had made. Then, I trace over the ocean carvings across the length of the lid. I finally open my eyes and stare at the keepsake box my mother created for my sixteenth birthday. A year before they died.
I carry it back to my bedroom and rummage through my jewelry box for the key. After shuffling around a ridiculous amount of earrings, necklaces, and bracelets, I finally find the key with my watch collections. I hold it up as if I just won a marathon and the key is my prize. I walk over to my bed with the box, count to ten slowly, then count back from twenty, trying to gain the courage to open it. With nervous hands, I slowly unlock it.
I push the knickknacks out of my way so I can locate all the pictures. I find a stack with a pink ribbon around them, indicating my favorite photos of Hadley. I set those back in the box and rifle through the stack with the blue ribbon, Logan’s stack. Knowing exactly which picture will be the perfect one for Logan’s present, I quickly thumb through them. I pass the cliche ones of him as a baby and even a toddler. When I get to the pictures of his soccer days, I slow down, knowing I’m close. After about ten more pictures, I find the one I’m seeking.
Logan’s first goal when he was about eight.
You can see our parents cheering for him in the background. My mom is pregnant with Hadley in the picture, and I’m on top of our dad’s shoulders, clapping. I plan on changing the photo to a black and white shot. Then keeping everything out of focus except Logan and our parents. I may even keep them in color.
With that plan, I tie the stack back up and place them back in their original spot. My finger travels over the other ribbons, but decide I’ll save those for another day. Today is about creating the perfect present for my brother. My hand come across a stray memory card that should be in the pouch with the other ones. After setting it on my nightstand, I lock the box, and slide it underneath my bed. Curious, I pick up the memory card again and turn it over and over in my hand. Finally I insert it into my camera and review the pictures.
The first shot is a closeup of a lane pool and I know immediately these aren’t just random pictures from a swim meet. There are pictures I forced myself to forget. This is the memory card that someone else put in here when I wasn’t “well.” That’s why it wasn’t in the pouch.
These are the photos I took the last day my family was alive.
Holy fuck, I can’t breath. Why couldn’t I have left it alone?
I set down the camera and step back, wanting to be as far away as possible from those memories. Without any other thought but needing to release the pain, I run to my bathroom. On my knees I grab the razor blade I have taped underneath my sink. Lifting my shirt, I press the steel blade to my hip. When the first trickle of blood escapes, I realize what I’m doing and throw the blade across the bathroom.
Dropping my face into my hands, I will myself not to cry. I will not cry over this. I’m stronger than this. I try not to feel the relief that washes over me as I watch the trail of blood. As much as I wish that my action sickened me, it doesn’t. I can’t lie to myself. I already feel better. I ignore the signs that I still need help, and clean myself up. With shaky legs I get off the cold tile floor and trudge over to the discarded camera.
I force myself to view the pictures again. I have to do this. This is yet another step in the right direction. I want to remember them happy, all of us happy, together. I want to remember their last moments.
I load the photos onto my MacBook Pro and slowly start flipping through them. Because I’ve re-played that disastrous day in my head for the past six years, I know the perfect pictures for Logan’s present are here. I just have to find them without falling apart.
After a couple more minutes of searching, I arrive at the picture of the guys from my last swim meet. Connor and Logan sport smiles, while Jax stares thoughtfully at the person holding the camera, me. Their arms encircle each other’s shoulders, the best of friends. Jax is simply perfect. Even in a photo it’s unmistakable how truly handsome he is. It physically hurts to look at him and realize that I lost such an amazing friend. I focus on his sad, tired eyes. For some reason I think it’s because of me, but I can’t remember why. There’s something important I’m forgetting, but I can’t grasp what it is. I don’t pry too hard because I’m afraid of what I may reveal. Instead I continue flipping through the rest of the pictures, ignoring the truth that I need to uncover.
My fingers pause over the button to view the next picture; Logan has one hand on Hadley’s shoulder. His other hand makes a fist pump in the air as they cheer me on at the end of my lane. This is the perfect picture. This was exactly what I was searching for . . . I’m so thankful to whoever captured this moment. Hadley looks stunning in her yellow shirt and creme tutu, making me have to catch my breath. She loved tutu’s, always insisting to wear them with every outfit. She was thirteen when she died; she never even had a chance to live. She had such a promising future ahead of her. I still don’t know how I can live without my kid sister.
She would be nineteen if it wasn’t for me. I miss her so much that I’m riveted to the screen, not wanting to blink or even change the picture. I want to memorize everything about her. I love how she was bouncing up and down with excitement, her long blonde hair flying through the air. I love that I was the reason for this smile on her last day. She drove me crazy, but was able to made me smile when I felt sad. I was never able to stay angry at her for long. I miss her each and every day.
I click to the next one, wanting to finish this project before I can’t handle it anymore. It’s not until the last picture that I have to fight the urge to find the razor blade. It’s of all of us, the family that is no more. Our parents are on the ends, Logan, Hadley and I in the middle.
This picture breaks me . . . like I broke them.
The darkness takes over as I stare into my parent’s laughing faces. I feel guilty that I’m alive and they’re not. They were my world, they were the type of parents that you read about in books, the parents that are always there for their children no matter what. They were always understanding. Even when we were fighting, I knew that I was lucky to have them. Of course at the time I didn’t, but reflecting now, I know that I couldn’t have had better parents. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t know they would always love me.
I didn’t have the horror of growing up in a crappy situation that some children face, like Jax. I was loved by them and everything they did, they did for us. I wish that I could still make them proud. I know that I haven’t. Since the accident, I’ve let the happy memories of them fade away and be replaced by their las
t hours, my worst nightmare come to life. I’ve let Logan down, too. I need to remember that I’m not the only one who lost them that day, Logan did, too. He continued to live, to make them proud. I need to do the same.
I don’t know how long I’m transfixed to the computer screen. It feels like hours, but I know it could have only been a matter of minutes when I finally I drag the three photos over to Photoshop.
Being as rusty as I am, it takes longer than necessary to edit them. It’s like riding a bike, hard to forget the basics, and soon everything else comes back, just slowly. It takes me an hour to finish. When I’m finally done, I go to a local store to buy a few picture frames. I only intended to buy four, but I end up carrying twelve back to my apartment because I want to hang up a few pictures of my own. Hopefully they will make my place feel more like home.
After setting everything down on the table, I force myself to eat a granola bar even though I’m not hungry. I hear my phone chime with a text as I finish my last bite, but ignore it. Oops, I forgot to bring it on my errands. I’ll check it when I’m ready for bed.
Crawling into bed, I set my alarm for the morning. Before I press the icon for my text messages, someone bangs on my door, making me jump. I watch in slow motion as my phone flies out of my hands and onto the floor.
Please don’t be broken. Please don’t be broken.
“Great!” I say when I flip it over.
A huge crack mars the screen, but at least it still turns on. Setting my now cracked phone on the nightstand, I jump out of bed fully intending to kick someone’s ass. It’s almost two in the morning. Too focused on wanting to murder my late night visitor, I open it without checking to see who it is.
Beautifully Shattered (The Beautifully Series Book 1) Page 19
