by Stella James
“Lock up behind me,” he says quietly.
I flip the lock and sink to the floor, finally giving in to the pain in my chest and the realization that the only person I’ve ever wanted to give my heart to, refuses to give me his in return.
Chapter 22
Ethan
The pounding in my head echoes as if it’s surrounding me from all angles. My mouth is dry, the remnants of cheap tequila nearly making me gag. The throbbing stops for a minute as I lift my eyelids and begins again the second I shut them. Fragments of the night before dance in my mind, reminders of what led me to such a pathetic state to begin with. Dru. Desperate to talk and willing to listen, telling me she loves me. The sweetest words I’ll ever hear, and I couldn’t bring myself to return them. Even if I do feel them. I knew that night at her exhibit that I was on borrowed time, it took me five days and several beers to get the courage to set her free. I knew she’d fight, because that’s Dru, but I also knew that she’d throw me out eventually. Why wouldn’t she? I was a bastard to her, throwing her own hang ups in her face when all she was trying to do was help me. We are both better off this way, something I’ll repeat to myself every time I wish I could feel her skin against mine and the weight of her arms wrapped around me. When I left her place last night I went to the first shitty bar I came across and did the only logical thing there was to do. Drink my fucking face off until I was numb.
I peel my eyes open once more, slowly roll off the bed and stumble to the bathroom. The hot spray of the shower does little to wash away the hollowness I feel in my bones. Knowing that I threw away the best damn thing to ever happen to me is a notion that will take some time getting used to. I grab a towel off the rack and dry off when I hear a knock at the door. Hope combined with irritation fills me instantly when I assume it must be Dru. An assumption that is obliterated when I hear Nick’s voice on the other side of the door.
“Open the damn door Ethan,” he says.
I throw on some clothes and reluctantly head for the door, opening it to find Nick holding two cups of coffee.
“Well it’s nice to see you among the living,” he says, handing me one of the cups. I take a large sip and let the bitter taste of caffeine slide down my throat.
“I don’t want to appear ungrateful for the coffee, but what are you doing here?”
“How in the hell do you think you got home last night dummy?” he says, taking a seat on the couch. “I hauled your drunk ass up three flights of stairs and tucked you in while you mumbled about some girl.”
Fuck.
“Sorry man, I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking calling you,” I say.
“You didn’t. You were nearly passed out on a stool when the bartender helped himself to your wallet and found my card.”
Even better.
I pick my phone up off the counter and check my messages, relieved that I didn’t call or text Dru, begging for another chance in my drunken state.
“It’s not my business what you do or don’t do Ethan, as long as you do your job. I’ve got enough damn baggage of my own and I don’t need to be messing around with yours. But I’m going to tell you something that took me years to figure out,” he says as he stands from the couch. “Guilt is a dirty bitch. She’ll bury herself in the deepest corners of your mind and spend her days slowly gnawing away at you until there’s nothing left but an empty shell. She doesn’t give two shits if you’re happy or if you’re seconds away from ending it all just to be free of her. There’s not a whole lot you can do to shut her up either,” he says.
“Well I feel so much better now,” I say bitterly.
“I’m not done yet, kid. As a man who has seen some truly fucked up shit and spent a lot of time wondering if I could have prevented it, I get it. I see the same burden on your shoulders that I carried on my own. Hell, I still carry that shit around. But there is a way to live with it, to stop it from consuming you,” he says. “Accept it. Accept the bad shit and accept that you likely couldn’t have changed it. If you could have changed it, accept that you didn’t and move the fuck on. Life is too damn short and it’s a disservice to anyone no longer living for you to waste the life you still have.”
His words echo in my mind long after he tosses his cup in the garbage and the door clicks shut behind him.
*
I pull into the abandoned lot, my stomach in knots. I haven’t been here since the funeral. I’ve spent the last four days thinking about what Nick said. I don’t know if coming here is going to help or make things worse, but at this point I’ve got nothing left to lose. If I’m going to accept anything, I need to talk to her, even if the conversation is one sided.
I turn off the engine and walk up the path leading to the one person besides me who knows what really happened that day nearly two years ago. Only she’s gone and I’m still here, suffocated by guilt.
I met Lindsey when she transferred to our precinct and became my new partner. The guy I’d been partnered with for the last several years was just promoted to Detective, the same path that I was on. She was a couple years younger than me, but she was smart and she was a damn good cop. The fact that she was attractive didn’t allude me and it wasn’t long before we were using each other between the sheets. We had an understanding. No strings, no promises and no pressure to settle down. The lack of emotional connection between us made it seem less unprofessional for the most part. But there was still a nagging voice in the back of my head telling me that my integrity was on the line. I often wondered if Lindsey had the same voice nagging her, but of course, I never bothered to ask. It was an arrangement that worked well for the both of us for almost a year. Then everything changed, and it guts me to admit it, but I hated her for it. Lindsey was the kind of woman who did whatever she wanted and cared little for the impact on others. We had chemistry in the bedroom, but our personalities clashed on more than one occasion. She was selfish and I was stubborn as hell and neither one of us were invested enough in each other to bother changing.
I spot the modest headstone and force my legs to take the last few steps until I’m standing in front of it. I place a small bouquet on the grass and shake my head with a bitter laugh, knowing that she would hate them. She was never the hearts and flowers type. I don’t know how long I stand there and stare, thinking of every single word I planned on saying. I suppose it doesn’t matter anyways. I can’t change the past, but can I accept it? If Dru really is my second chance, can I take it?
I’m sorry Lindsey.
I say the words out loud and hope that even if my apology is too late, it might count for something. That the guilt and regret I’ve lived with every day since the accident is enough to grant me even a morsel of forgiveness.
Chapter 23
Dru
I sit at the small table in the corner of the coffee shop, I can’t stop my knee from bouncing up and down as I wait for the person who I’ve only spoken to over the phone. I haven’t heard from or seen Ethan in over a week. I hate the way things were left between us and I hope that we have a fighting chance, but I’m pretty much helpless until he deals with his past. I have to believe that he’ll fight for us, when he’s ready. Because I love him. And when you love someone with your whole heart, you love more than just the shiny pieces. You love the dark pieces too, and the pieces that don’t always fit into a neat little box.
I glance up at the door for the hundredth time and scold myself for my impatience. He’s not even late, I’m early, and effectively driving myself crazy. The things Ethan said to me that night hurt at the time, and I know he was mad at the situation and maybe at himself. But he was right. He’s not the only one scared of moving forward. I fumble around with my phone and check my Instagram to kill time when a pair of scuffed up work boots pause near the table and I glance up to see an older man with short brown hair and matching brown eyes. He’s quite tall and looks to be in good shape. His jeans are faded, and the sleeves of his flannel shirt are rolled up, exposing several faded tattoos.
“Ms. Marx?” he asks.
“Y-yes, I’m Dru,” I reply.
He smiles kindly and gestures to the seat across from me before sitting down and placing his hands on the table. White paint is splattered across his knuckles. I’m nervous and awkward and I think he probably feels the same way. I extend my hand so that we can get a formal introduction out of the way.
“It’s nice to meet you Cal,” I say. “Thanks for coming.”
He takes my hand in his and shakes it roughly. “Sorry about the mess, I was working this morning and I didn’t want to be late,” he explains.
“Oh, it’s no problem. I, actually…well I paint, so I get it,” I stammer.
We sit and watch each other, unsure of what to say. A few days after Ethan left my apartment I decided to face my fear and finally track down my father. I contacted Karen and asked her if she’d be willing to help me find Cal Giroux. It took a couple days, but she managed to narrow it down for me and after a few phone calls I finally got a match. I wasn’t sure what to say on the phone, so I decided to just be honest and tell him that I believe he might be my father. He seemed skeptical until I mentioned Maria’s name. Turns out, Cal and Maria were neighbours for a short period of time before I was born. They had a brief encounter with me being the result, only Cal moved out shortly after and since they were nothing more than a casual hook-up, they didn’t even exchange numbers. I could tell he was hesitant to tell me that they’d simply had a one-night stand and that alone made me think he was probably a decent person. He could have cast me aside and hung up, but he didn’t. I explained about Maria passing and the note she left behind. I asked him to meet me for coffee and he agreed. So here we are.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” he says.
“Thank you. To be honest, I hadn’t seen her in quite some time. I was placed in foster care when I was thirteen.”
“Christ. I’m sorry for that too,” he says.
“Don’t be. I had a good upbringing with my foster mother and sisters. I wouldn’t trade them for anything,” I say honestly.
Another lull of silence sits between us and I’m wondering if we stand a chance at getting to know each other or if too much time has gone by.
“Stevie Nicks,” he blurts out. “Uh, Maria, she liked Stevie Nicks,” he clarifies.
“That’s right, she did,” I agree with a smile.
“I didn’t know Maria well, I won’t lie about that. But I want you to know that if I’d known about you, I would have tried,” he says sincerely. I’m not sure why, but I believe him.
“Are you married?” I ask.
“I was, we divorced about four years ago.”
“I’m sorry. Do you, I mean, did you have kids?”
“No, my wife wasn’t able to,” he replies. “You, uh, said you paint?”
“Yes, I just had my first exhibit not that long ago,” I tell him with pride. “Yourself?”
“Oh I just paint houses, but your grandfather painted in his spare time. Landscapes mostly. He passed away quite a while ago, but I’ve got a garage full of supplies and most of his work wrapped and packed up. If you, well if you ever wanted to take a look and see if there’s anything you can use you’re welcome to it.”
“I would love that,” I say quietly as I blink back the moisture in my eyes. My grandfather was a painter.
Cal reaches across the table and pats my hand awkwardly, causing a laugh to bubble up from my chest. I grab his hand with mine and hold it for a second before letting go. In the next hour I learn that he’s an only child and although my grandfather has passed away, my grandmother is still alive and lives in an assisted living nursing home about two hours away. I tell Cal about Esme and my sisters. He asks how I ended up in foster care, so I tell him the truth. I can see the guilt in his expression, but I do my best to reassure him that everything turned out for the best despite the circumstances. He was born in the city and has had his own painting and drywall business for the last fifteen years. When it’s time to head out, we stand at our table unsure of how to part ways.
“So, it’s okay if I call you?” I ask.
“I would like that Dru,” he says.
“Okay then.”
We step outside just as a group of collage guys are walking in. One of them holds the door for me and flashes me an overly friendly grin as his curious eyes travel the length of my body.
“Hell no buddy, eyes up here,” Cal grumbles from behind me, loud enough for the entire coffee shop to hear. The young man turns red as his buddies laugh. I’m still smiling after Cal and I part ways with a simple handshake and I head to the club for my last shift.
*
My final performance on stage with my girls at The Nightingale is bittersweet. The fact that I’m now drowning in commissions and inquiries makes me indescribably happy, but I’ve been a part of this makeshift family for seven years and moving on is going to be tough. Gus gave me not only a job but the flexibility to chase my dreams and the girls I’ve shared that stage with became some of my best friends. Of course I know that this isn’t necessarily goodbye, but knowing that I’m finally placing all my faith into my true passion without a safety net is a scary thing. The good kind, but scary nonetheless.
I’m cleaning out my locker while Margo and Brenna pass around a bottle of strawberry angel champagne. Gus closed the club a couple hours early tonight so we could have our own little party. Everyone is scattered throughout the dressing room, eating and laughing. Maci passes the bottle to me and I pour myself a plastic cup full.
“Hey! You’re not taking that are you?” Brenna asks, pointing to a small picture of Jared Leto that I had taped to the inside of my locker door. “I think Jared should stay, don’t you? For the sake of nostalgia or whatever.”
“He’s all yours, girl,” I say, peeling Jared from the door and passing him to her. She sticks him to the corner of a mirror and bats her eyes at the picture.
“You know that you’re flirting with a picture of some dude you’ll never meet, right?” says Dean.
“What?! That’s blasphemy you ape,” she scolds.
“Here Dru, I got you a going away present,” Dean says, passing me a small card.
“Awe, you didn’t have to do that.” I rip it open to find a blank white card with a number on it. “Your gift is your phone number?”
“Hell yes, it is, and you can call me anytime you need me baby,” he replies, winking.
I ball the card up and toss it back at him. “You’re disgusting, you know that right?” I laugh.
“Okay, enough joking around,” Gus says as the music fades and he waves me over to join him. “Dru, I speak for everyone here when I say that there will never be a time that you aren’t welcome here. Whether on the stage or just to stop in and visit. This is your home and you are a part of this family no matter what,” he says, taking my hand. “To Dru, and her beautiful paintings.”
Everyone raises their glasses and once we’ve toasted to my new journey, I hug everyone, even Dean, before I take my small box and have James walk me out back for the last time.
When I get home, I feed Lucy and run a bath. It’s just after midnight and nothing appeals to me more than a hot soak before crawling into bed and slipping into a mild coma. As I sink back into the water I grab my phone off the floor and check my messages. Disappointment hits me when I see that I still have nothing from Ethan. Not that I was holding my hopes up very high, but the radio silence still manages to sting. I have a text from Anna and one from Elle, both checking in to see how my last shift at the club was. I’d talked to them both and Esme as well after my meeting with Cal. I didn’t go into detail about Ethan and I but I’m sure they know something is up. Anna is always telling me that my face gives me away. I should call her tomorrow anyways. I know she’s hanging around with that Sebastian guy, as friends she claims, but I’m still not sure I trust the guy. Talented and generous artist or not.
I pull the drain and dry off with a fluffy white towel, wrapping myself
up before I walk to my dresser and slip on an old Cher T-shirt. I throw back the covers and crawl into bed and just when I’m about to flick off the lamp I hear a knock on my door. My first instinct is Anna, but when I check the peep hole my heart leaps in my chest.
Ethan.
Chapter 24
Ethan
“Dru, please let me in. We need to talk,” I beg through the door.
I can sense her hesitation and I can’t say I blame her. I was a mess the last time I was here and if anything, I am even less deserving of her patience now. But for the first time since then I am finally thinking clearly, and I can’t lose her without a fight. She flips the lock and pulls open the door, my relief obvious as I let go of the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Hey,” she says quietly.
“Hey. Shit, were you in bed? I thought you worked tonight?”
“I did, I was just getting into bed when you knocked.”
“Can I come in? Please?”
She pulls the door open wide and steps aside to let me in. My heart is hammering in my chest and my fingers itch to touch her as if I’ve been going through a withdrawal that my body can’t handle. Focus. She closes the door behind me and locks it again.
“Can I get you anything?” she offers.
“No, thank you. I just want to talk.”
“I’m listening.” She keeps her voice neutral while I fight the urge to sweep her into my arms and seal my lips to hers.
She deserves answers and logically I know that this is the only way I stand a chance with her. No matter how much I love her, it won’t mean a thing if I can’t let her in and give her all the pieces of me, even the ugly ones. I hold out my hand and she places her palm in mine, allowing me to lead her to the couch. The soft glow of the bedside lamp allows me to see the fatigue in her eyes and general weariness in her expression and it kills me to know that I am likely the cause. We sit in silence for a minute before I begin to speak.
