by Celeste, B.
Bridgette pats my leg. “I think that’s a good idea. Get a tan, have some fun, do something for yourself. Everything will be waiting for you when you’re ready.”
But how will I know when that is?
That annoying voice in my head answers, when it stops hurting.
Closing my eyes, I wonder if that’s even possible. Just seeing Everett’s face, remembering the fury on Isabel’s, leaves a gaping hole in my chest, especially when my brain replays the image of Isabel’s ring and what she said about … the baby.
I make a choking sound and brush hair out of my face. “California will be good,” I whisper brokenly.
Maybe if I tell myself that over and over, I’ll actually start believing it.
33
Everett / 27
Robert asked that I take some time away from work to stay at home and “deal with things”. It really just keeps the assholes at the office from coming by and cracking jokes or giving me shit about throwing away a perfectly good relationship. Half of them talk about Isabel like they know her well, and shit, maybe they do. But they don’t know what our relationship was like.
At first, I ignored them. What else could I do? Then I blew up at Cody Anderson from accounting in front of the entire fifth floor when I had enough of him running his mouth.
Half the office on the eighth floor has bets placed on how long I’ll last in my position with the new information they’ve gotten from town gossipers. From what I hear, the pot is high, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not nervous about the repercussions I’ll face when Robert really wraps his head around what I’ve done with his daughter.
It doesn’t matter that he sees me as a son or known me longer than her. River is his daughter in every way but blood. She’s his first priority. I just hope he can forgive me eventually.
My apartment has been vacated for over a week now, and I’ve only been there long enough to see if Isabel really left. The furniture and dishes she bought are right where I remember them always being and a handful of clothes still hang in our closet. It looks like it did before she moved in, not quite settled but slightly lived-in.
The apartment never felt like home, and Isabel might have filled the emptiness, but it never changed how I felt about my indifference to the place. She, on the other hand, loved it. It used to be bland with neutral walls and empty shelves and cupboards until she decorated the space. In my haste to move on, I never thought about her just staying there permanently, but maybe that’s exactly what she needs.
The cabin is where I feel the memories the most. This sense of security, of belonging, wraps itself around me just like I imagine it did for my father growing up. Pictures of my family litter the walls, fireplace mantel, and shelves. Trophies and game heads from hunting competitions my father used to compete in with Granddad hang around the living room, and it still smells like I always remember—pine, cinnamon, and the great outdoors. Isabel used to hate coming there for parties because the wood is worn, the floors creak, and the décor is dark and monotone. But I like simple. Simple suits me.
After getting internet installed, I set up the old guest bedroom as my home office. Robert thinks I should speak to Isabel, but I know Issy. She needs time away from me, and the few short weeks it has been since I asked her to move out of the apartment isn’t enough considering the years I’m saying goodbye to. It isn’t like they meant nothing; we had our good days along with the bad. The bad just won out.
When I do see Issy, it’ll be during working hours, so her father can’t trap me at their house. Plus, we’re less likely to argue in a public setting. I’m just as guilty of losing it at bad times as she is, she’s just louder. But if there’s one thing Blake Allen taught her, it’s to save face.
The apartment won’t be enough of an apology to her, but hopefully it helps. I don’t expect her to forgive me by any means, just to understand why it has to be like this.
Closing my laptop and pushing off the desk, I wander into the kitchen where my cell is plugged into the wall. The farther away it is from me, the less chance I have at reaching out to River. The calls I made right after hearing about the confrontation were left unanswered, so I knew texts would find the same fate.
Plus, I promised Robert not to bother her until she was ready. It’s the only thing he asked of me before telling me to go home. But home isn’t as simple as four walls and a roof.
Home isn’t a place. It’s a person. And mine is somewhere suffering as a wrecking ball threatens to tear down her walls.
I’m the instigator.
I’m the person who pulls the lever.
All because of one night.
No.
All because of ten years.
I just hope there will be a hell of a lot more to come.
There’s a woman yelling my name. She sounds worried, kind of like Mom did the one time I wandered off in the store alone. I wanted the blue rubber ball in the cage. But this woman is shrieking and older and familiar.
“Where is he? Where’s Everett?”
I try moving but shooting pain makes me cry out until soft hands and lulling voices tell me to stay still.
The woman yells again. Sobs. “Everett! Where is my grandbaby?”
A man is telling her to take a deep breath, his voice is raspy kind of like Dad’s but deeper. Another voice is closer, younger, warmer. She tells me that I’m okay. That they’re going to fix me.
Everything gets fuzzy but the pain goes away. My veins feel cold when something trickles through them, then warms, until my body goes still. More voices. More yelling.
I can’t open my eyes, but I think someone enters the room. There’s a lot of crying and whispering and I hear my name.
“Rhett boy,” a voice says, “it’s okay now, we’re here for you. You’re going to get through this because you’re strong. Understand?”
Somebody agrees, the raspy man. “I promise we’re going to take care of you. Your grandmother and I will make you better. Do you know why, son?”
Grandpa calls me son.
“Because we’re Tuckers,” he whispers close to my ear. Sleepiness washes over me suddenly. “And Tuckers always keep their promises.”
I jolt awake with the sweaty, scratchy sheets clinging to my body. Forcing my legs over the side of the bed, I rest my elbows on my knees and thread my fingers through my damp hair.
Sometimes I think the cabin has too many memories. It’s why I chose to sleep in a different room than the one I spent my childhood in. My grandparents’ room was across the house, my father’s old room next to that, and my childhood room a few doors away from there. This one is clear across the house, but not far enough to ward off unwanted memoires.
Waking up in the hospital was a terrifying experience. I was in and out of it for days because of the medicine they pumped into me, but my grandparents were always there like they promised. They took me to their house after a month of corrective surgeries and recuperation, wearing a bright blue cast on my arm, bruises on my face, and a large cut down the side of my neck that the doctors said would scar from the seventeen stitches it needed. One of the nurses called it a battle scar, which I thought was cool at the time. It wasn’t until much later I acknowledged most battles ended in death, and I was the only survivor.
Running my hand down the curve of the old wound, I close my eyes. Taking a few harbored breaths, I push myself up and toward the kitchen for some water. It’s three in the morning, almost four. Too early to run. Too early to start the day.
Just … too early.
Funny, considering I’m usually too late.
When I check my phone, I don’t know what I expect. There aren’t any missed calls or texts waiting for me from anyone important. Not even Oliver, and I wonder if he knows. I doubt he’ll be in the dark for long, even a thousand miles away. People talk.
In fact, I disabled my social media accounts, the few that I had, because everyone talked too much. I got nasty messages on Facebook and even worse comments. But when
I went to River’s page … she got the brunt of the hate. Last I knew, she still had it. In fact, I may have checked up on her last night before bed. It’s pointless because she never posts.
Probably a good thing right now.
The night I asked her to the café, I never intended to end up in her bed. Have I fantasized about it? Fuck yes. My right arm has more muscle mass from the workout it always gets thinking about her naked. River has meant something more to me for longer than I like to admit. It has been years of quick glances, longing looks, and secret wishes that I’ve kept bottled up.
I fucked up and can’t go back. I don’t want to. Everything about the past has been done wrong. Moving forward means redoing what I should have done to begin with.
Tell River how beautiful she is.
Tell River how much I care.
Tell Isabel I’m sorry.
Picking up my phone, my finger hovers over River’s name in my contacts list. My promise to Robert is what makes me close out of the app, down a glass of water, and go to the living room.
Phone in hand, I sit down on the cool material of the cloth couch and heave out a long, heavy sigh. Closing my eyes will bring new nightmares, old memories. Sleeping will trap me in with my conscience.
Clicking on Issy’s name, I shoot her a quick text to ensure that I fix at least one thing in my power.
Can we talk tomorrow?
I’m laying on my back staring up at the dark ceiling that dances with shadows of tree limbs outside the front window when my phone buzzes on my stomach.
10. Don’t be late.
Huffing out a quiet laugh, I shake my head and shut my eyes. At least Isabel hasn’t lost her charm. Maybe that’s a good sign. Or a very, very bad one.
That’s the last thought I have before falling back into the darkness.
34
River / 23
L.A.X is swamped with busybodies swarming baggage claim trying to locate their things. I learned last time I visited that you have to use your elbows to get through or you’ll just stand there forever. The only reason I found that out was when Steph came searching for me after waiting nearly an hour outside. She didn’t hesitate to shove her way through the crowd and demand to know where my bag was when we couldn’t find it.
I’m not like Steph though. I barely tap people as I make my way through the heavy crowd grabbing their bags from the conveyer. I do manage to pull my black rolling suitcase off and yank the handle up as soon as it’s on the ground next to me and search the huge room.
When I called Steph and asked her if I could still stay with her like she offered hundreds of times before, she squealed so loud in my ear, I think it started bleeding. Her boyfriend, Mason, and her made up the spare room and told me it’s mine whenever I need it.
I’ve never met Mason, but I did talk to him during one of my many phone calls with Steph. She always has it on speaker phone, so sometimes he’ll crack a joke or intervene when she gets riled up about something to do with work. That’s how they met, on set of the indie film they’re part of. Mason has a small roll as a side character in it and Steph got promoted to helping with costumes. They seem like they’re in love, but I don’t exactly have the best judgment on what love really is.
As soon as I get through a bulk of the crowd, Steph starts jumping up and down and waving her arms around. She looks the same as last time except tanner, if that’s possible. I wonder if she spends more time outside now that she isn’t the assistant to some stuck-up movie star anymore.
She’s wearing a long sheer white maxi dress with a slit that goes up mid-thigh. Like usual, she’s in Gladiator sandals with a huge purse hanging from her shoulder. Her long sandy blonde hair falls in waves past her shoulder, and she’s got a pair of sunglasses folded in her hands as she yells my name.
I miss Steph’s energy. Sometimes it made me feel like a failure for not being more like her, because I was her exact opposite. But it worked better that way. Her mom said we balanced each other out, which I think she liked because Steph sometimes got a little too crazy before we became close friends.
“You’re here!” she shrieks, bouncing over and wrapping me in a tight hug. She smells like suntan lotion and coffee, and when she pulls back there are tears watering her baby blues. “I can’t believe you’re really here, River! Mason is probably sick of me saying that you’re staying with us, but I’m just so excited! I mean, the circumstances could probably be better, but who cares?”
Steph catches me when a guy with a buzzcut shoves past me on his way out.
Once I’m stable, she turns around and shoots daggers at the guy. “Hey, watch where you’re going, asshole! Yeah, I’m talking to you, buddy!”
The guy is long gone, not caring that somebody is yelling at him. But that’s Steph, calling out people without a worry in the world.
Turning on her heels, her big smile greets my tired eyes. “I’m really sorry about everything going on at home, babe. But we’re going to have so much fun here!”
I never told her the details about the Isabel thing. She doesn’t know about the ring or baby, just that Isabel gave me a much-deserved bitch slap and told the whole east-end of Bridgeport that I had an affair with her boyfriend.
Her fiancé, the pesky voice in my head reminds me.
She takes my suitcase despite my protests and we start heading toward the front doors side by side. “How did you even find out about all that stuff anyway?”
Making an unattractive snorting sound, she gives me a duh look and rolls her made-up eyes. “I have this thing called social media. You do too, if memory serves. And let’s just say the haters are out to get you on Facebook.”
My eyes lock on the sidewalk as we step onto it. Tiny ants walk in a haphazard line, some toward the cracks and others toward the mayhem. I wonder if they know they don’t stand a chance or if they just don’t care.
Steph reaches out and takes my hand, keeping it wrapped in hers. “The haters are just jealous, River. Honestly, most of the people talking about it are chicks from school that Everett never paid attention to. Even before that evil hoe.”
Shoulders sagging, I let out a tiny, defeated sigh. “Don’t call her that. If anybody deserves name calling, it’s me.”
It’s why I haven’t been on Facebook. I normally go on a few times a week to see what everyone is up to, mostly Steph and Oliver since they’re both active online.
The thought of Ollie seeing the comments everyone’s warned me about makes my stomach bottom out. I’ve come to terms with my family seeing me differently. Bridgette … Mom … reminded me right before I got on the plane that they love me. But I wonder if that extends to Oliver?
My hand gets squeezed. “I mean it, River. Those girls are just jealous they didn’t get to see Everett’s cock, too. He didn’t hook up with many girls at parties, so there’s a lot of people who missed the mystery that is Everett Tucker.”
Those words make my chest hurt. Isabel called him a mystery the night she gave me a ride home; she said that’s what drew her to him. But he was never a mystery. Not to me.
“Can we not talk about it anymore?” I plea quietly, letting her pull me across the busy street toward one of the parking lots.
Jumping up onto the curb and easily wheeling my bag behind us, she wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Sure thing. Let’s talk about everything we’re going to do while you’re at Casa de la Stephanie. First, your hair.”
“My hair?”
An evil grin spreads across her face. “I seem to remember you telling me once that you’d only let me dye your hair if you did something stupid. You know, because then you’d deserve the punishment that is girly fun. Which, by the way, is ridiculous. No worries, I still love you anyway. But some might define your actions with Everett as stupid. Not me though, because I’d jump on that dick—”
“Steph!” I scold, feeling my face heat. “I thought we weren’t talking about it anymore?”
Tipping her head back and groaning loudly, she stops besi
de her car. “Ugh, fine. You’re no fun. All I’m saying is that you came here to let loose and live a little, so I’m going to help you do that.”
Blinking back doubt, I ask, “By dyeing my hair?”
She nods enthusiastically, her red lips stretched into a huge grin. “Damn straight. But don’t think I’m letting you off that easy. I remember lots of things you said you wanted to do that one time at Kenzie’s house when we were talking about life dreams.”
My eyes widen as she unlocks her car and opens the backdoor, slipping my suitcase onto the leather seat. “But we were all drunk from the wine she snuck out of her mother’s cabinet!”
Steph doesn’t care. “So? Now is your chance to finally be somebody you never let yourself be in New York. California is literally the perfect place to reinvent yourself.”
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I shake my head. “What if I don’t want to reinvent myself? Maybe becoming somebody else isn’t the answer. I mean, I’m not here to make more stupid choices.”
“And I won’t let you.”
I eye her.
“Okay, I won’t let you make many.”
That sounds more like her.
“Just trust me. You trust me, right?”
“Of course.”
More than anyone.
She takes my hands again. “I just want you to be happy, River. So does your family. It may not seem like it now, but you can find happiness without you-know-who. Give it time, okay?”
After years of wanting the same person, I wonder if I really can. Thinking about every encounter, every heartache of Everett and Isabel, the answer seems so clear.
I whisper, “Okay.”
My long auburn hair is now “luscious lavender” according to the box, and I wonder why I let Steph win this battle. It’s too different, and I’ve never done well with change.
“It’s only temporary. Stop fussing.”
