by C. M. Owens
***
BRIN
“Is he gone?” I whisper from my doorway, wiping away the streaks of fallen tears.
Maggie stares out the window for a moment, and then she sighs. “Finally. Yeah. He’s walking across the street.” She turns to me with the most apologetic eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Are you okay?” She cringes and quickly adds, “Don’t answer that. It was a stupid question. Of course you’re not okay.”
I sigh while coming to drop down to the sofa.
“At least the museum had to stay closed for a few extra days. The renovations hit a snag, and the building can’t be reopened until next week now.”
She hands me a fresh box of tissues, and I smile up at her very gratefully. “Thank God I have you,” I murmur, and she smiles as she comes to sit down beside me and wraps me up in the hug I need.
“You’ve been with me through some of the worst breakups ever. I can be here for you the one time you actually need a shoulder to cry on.”
She looks toward the window, and then her eyebrows scrunch. “Is he pouring gas into your car?” she asks, and I look out to see the same thing.
Shit. I have a full tank.
He figures that out when the gas starts pouring out of the jug and onto the ground instead of going into the car, and his eyes move to the house again. Through the thin curtains, we can see him, but I don’t think he can see us.
He puts the jug down, and starts walking this way, and I run to my room like the coward I am. “Don’t open the door this time,” I whisper, and Maggie walks over to the window just as the banging on the door starts.
“What now?” she asks, playing dumb.
“Her tank is full. Let me talk to her. I know she’s in there. I just saw her running out of the living room.”
Crap. So much for him not seeing through the useless curtains. We need blinds.
“She doesn’t want to see you.”
“I have a key,” he warns, and my stomach knots up.
Maggie flips the newly-installed chain lock into position, and I breathe out in relief.
“Go home. She doesn’t want to talk to you. I think you’ve said enough. Don’t you?”
I sink to the floor, still trying to catch my breath, when suddenly there’s a loud beating on my window. I jump and scream when I see Rye’s brown eyes staring expectantly.
Definitely buying blinds for every damn room in the house.
“Please go away,” I groan, standing as I wipe my eyes.
“I just want to apologize.”
“Fine. You’ve done so. Now go away,” I say, keeping my face out of view.
“You’re crying. Let me in so I can talk to you. Please.”
Why is he doing this?
“Do you hear yourself?” Maggie barks, coming into my room on her way to my window. “This is what is breaking her. You and your damn contradictory, befuddling ways. Just go the hell home and leave her alone. You’re just confusing her more with everything you do. Fuck! I don’t even understand you, so I can’t imagine how she feels.”
I look over just as he backs away from the window, looking so pitifully defeated. It almost feels like a hand reaches in and painfully squeezes my heart, because I hate seeing his eyes so sad.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says softly, looking away from me.
“So you said. Now go,” she snaps.
This time he listens, and he walks away with his head down. I exhale a long breath before climbing up and getting into bed and pulling the covers over my head.
“I’m staying under the covers no matter what you say this time,” I grumble, but one corner folds down, and suddenly Maggie is under the covers with me.
Her eyes hold unshed tears for my pain, and I remember why I’ve loved her like a sister for all these years.
“I’ll stay under the covers with you,” she whispers, and her tears sneak out as a violent sob breaks free from me.
***
RYE
“I don’t understand you,” Wren growls as he picks up his phone.
“What’s not to understand?” I ask while taking another sip of whiskey.
“It’s fucking two in the afternoon and you’re already wasted. You had it. You had it. You had what Tag, Kode, Kade, and Dane have found, but you’d rather sit around and sulk instead of just loving the girl. Just because you don’t say it, doesn’t mean you don’t feel it. What you found with her... Trust me, Rye, it’s not something everyone gets to have, and you’re an idiot for ignoring it.”
He sounds like a bitch. I hate bitches.
Instead of punching him like I want to, I curse him and roll over on the couch.
“I guess that means you’re not going to the garage today.”
“Nope,” I say in a clipped tone that tells him to shut up.
He groans and then walks over to open the door. I wait for it to shut, praying he leaves me with my silence while I search for the anger I need to get past all this. I’m sick of this feeling, and I need the one constant that has been there for most of my life so that I can get back to who I was before her.
“Hey, Brin,” Wren calls loudly, and my body is off the couch and racing toward the door before I even realize it.
Brin and Maggie are getting into Maggie’s BMW, and I start running across the street. Maggie cranks the car just as I reach them, but I’m on the passenger side and banging on the window with no plan.
Brin won’t look at me, but I can tell she’s still crying. She never cried over the husband she had for six years, but she’s crying over me. Again. Has she even stopped?
“Please talk to me, Brin. I’m begging you. Just let me apologize.”
She takes a slow, steadying breath, and then she turns her tear-streaked face toward me, crushing my heart by allowing me to see the pain she’s in. I did that. I caused that pain.
Her window rolls down, and Maggie curses as Brin’s red-rimmed eyes lift to meet mine. “You need to deal with whatever issues you have. Obviously, I wasn’t the person to help you through it. I hope you find that person. You deserve an Ash, or a Rain, or a Tria—someone who makes you stronger. Someone who makes you better.”
She’s trying to cut my heart out right now. I wasn’t expecting her to say that. Gravity pulls me toward her, and I start to lean into her window, needing to touch her.
“Stop,” she whimpers, and I do.
She takes another breath, and then her glistening eyes find mine again. “I don’t know what’s going on. I wish I did. But you deserve better than you’re allowing yourself to have. And I deserve better than you’ll ever give me. I’m tired of settling for what I can get. I just want to be happy.”
Maggie steps on the gas as I stand there stupefied. Settling for what she can get?
She wanted me. And I only gave her a piece. But she doesn’t understand. Fuck! Why did she have to move in right across the street?
Wren is standing at my front door, looking just as confused as everyone else these days. I walk by him on my way inside, ignoring his scrutiny.
“Why is it that you don’t want to be with her, yet you can’t leave her alone?”
I swallow hard as I think back to everything Brin said to me. I am confusing and contradictory. I want her, but I don’t want all of her. I want her to have me, but not all of me. I’d tell her to keep it simple, and then I’d complicate the hell out of everything with my actions.
“Because I love her and I don’t want to. I can’t. You know I can’t,” I finally say in a whisper. It feels like I’m taking my first breath ever as that admission travels free. I drop to the couch, stretching my legs out while staring at the ceiling. “When I’m with her, I forget. I forget it all. And it feels so damn good to just have her with me. It feels too good. And then I freak out, and I worry what I’ll do to her. It’s so much responsibility to have. I’ve already failed once.”
I can’t stop it. I don’t want to fucking cry like a girl, but I can’t help it. Wren drops to a
chair in front of me, and nods slowly.
“Your mom suffered from a mental disease. What she did to you and herself was not her fault. It wasn’t your dad’s fault. And it sure as hell wasn’t your fault. Stop searching for something or someone to blame. And stop letting it destroy your life. There are five stages of grief. I’m pretty sure it’s time to move to stage five.”
His hand on my shoulder is less than comforting, but he tries. Then he walks out, and leaves me with my drunken tears and dark reality.
I want to be angry. It’s better than being miserable. I need that anger, and there’s only one person that can give me what I need.
I grab my keys, stagger outside, and get into my sad, tragic looking Porsche.
***
RYE
“Are you drunk?” Marilyn asks as I barge by her, but I ignore her as she practically purrs behind me.
“Dad!” I yell up the stairs, seeking an attempt at retribution.
He comes down the stairs promptly, and his eyes catch mine. He frowns while looking over my shoulder.
“Give us a minute,” he says to Marilyn.
The clicks of her heels promise me the bitch is leaving, but I never take my eyes off the man I hate the most in life.
“You’re here to blame me some more, I see,” he says, nodding. “Whatever you need to do or say, go ahead. But be prepared to hear the hard truth in return.”
My teeth grind as I move toward him, but the anger... Where the fuck is the anger?
When misery is all that clings to me and anger denies me a reprieve, I break. Years of repressed memories clutter my mind, and I fucking fall apart.
“Eight days. You were gone for eight days one time.”
His eyes water, and he takes a step backwards as my own tears fall. I can tell he wasn’t expecting that, and I sure as hell wasn’t expecting to bring it up. But there it is. I need him to make me angry, and he will. He always does.
“How could you not know she needed help after that?” I ask, my voice crackling.
He slowly lowers himself to the stairs, and the tears start dropping. “I thought... I didn’t know she did that to you until... It was already over by the time I learned everything. You know that. I had no idea, and you never told me. I never would have let her do that.”
The darkness of this house still consumes me and suffocates me every time I’m here. Being trapped, screaming for help, and feeling terrified and hungry for days at a time is something you never forget. You can bury it, but it claws its way to the surface and gnaws on you from the inside.
“She loved you. That’s all she’d ever say. She’d lock me in there and then say she was sorry, but she needed time. I was too much to deal with because she needed time to herself.”
When he starts sobbing, I back away. Where is my motherfucking anger? It’s still leaving me alone with the pain, and I don’t understand. I can’t breathe. It feels like my chest is trying to cave in on itself.
I roar like a fucking animal, gripping my hair as I stumble around.
“I don’t blame you for blaming me, son. I blame myself most of the time,” he says through his choked tone. “But I swear to you that I didn’t know she was sick. I would have gotten her help, and I would have never left you alone with her.”
My back slides against the wall as I sink to the floor across from the staircase.
“I prayed for her to die,” I almost whisper, and his head snaps up. The silence is almost deafening before I continue. “The last time... I prayed for her to die. Thirty-two days later, my prayers were answered.”
Until now, I’ve never spoken those words aloud. My father stands, preparing himself to come toward me. But I hold my hand up, silently pleading for him to stop. I need to get out of here. This isn’t why I came here. I don’t want to talk about it; I want to forget it. I want to hide it, lock it away, and I want to be pissed.
Before I stand, Ethan walks in, and I roll my eyes.
“Did you follow me?” I grumble, staggering back to my feet.
He narrows his eyes. “Little bit. You’re kind of a loose cannon right now.”
Great. He’s worried I’m going crazy. Maybe I am. I don’t even know when he started following me.
I feel lost without the rage that has driven me for so long. It’s almost like having a piece of me ripped out, and now there’s nothing occupying the place where it once was—nothing besides misery. A void rests inside me, and I have no fucking clue what to do about it.
“I’m leaving,” I murmur—or slur would be more accurate—but Ethan stays behind.
I hear him talking to Dad, but I ignore them as I stumble back out to my car. I’m too drunk to be driving, so I wait on Ethan to come out. He motions toward his black BMW, and I climb in on the passenger side.
I thought I’d feel better; I thought he’d make me angry and give me back what’s missing so I can cope. But it is still missing, and I only feel worse. Death is easier when you have someone or something to blame—something tangible you can yell at or hate. It’s hard to hate a sickness you can’t see, one you can’t even definitively name. It’s a lot easier to hate yourself.
***
RYE
“Feel better?” Ethan asks as he hands me some Tylenol.
I take the pills gratefully, and stare up at my ceiling. Five days. I’m through being drunk.
“I feel... tired. Miserable would be more accurate. Has her car moved today?”
“It has moved the past two days. By the way, I feel like a creep when I’m constantly staring out the window.”
I laugh lightly while sitting up. Oddly, I do feel a little better. Maybe five days of hangovers are enough.
“Thanks. I just wanted to make sure she’s not staying at home and—”
“And acting like you?” he asks, arching a brow at me.
I frown as I look around my trashed house. It probably smells like death in here. I probably smell like death.
“You still don’t want to try to win her back?” he asks.
I’d give anything to have her back, but she’s right. I’m nothing but a pile of confusing contradictions. And she was also right about deserving better.
But as I stand and let my eyes go through the window, the Camry returns, and the girl I wish I could let go steps out. All she wanted was to be it for me. No one has ever cared about me like this.
She’s all I think about. Wren met his daughter for the first time, and I couldn’t even force myself to ask him questions, because I knew my mind would only be on one thing—Brin. She’s still consuming me.
She drops her purse, and I can’t help but smile as she curses to herself. At least, I assume those beautiful, soft, tempting lips are cursing.
“I honestly... I want her back. But I’ll never be the guy she wants me to be.”
He sighs as he walks toward the door. “Well, you’d better be sure. Ash is trying to set her up with someone. Just thought I’d give you a heads up.”
A flash of red consumes me, and he grins like he just said the magic words.
“Don’t worry. She’s still saying no for now,” he adds, mocking an attempt to placate my murderous glare. Then he smiles as he adds, “Not sure how long it’ll last though.”
I can’t help but be pissed, but it’s not the form of anger I want. I need the old anger, not new rage. I’m not ready for her to move on, even though I know I should let her.
As she stands and walks toward her door, my heart breaks just a little more. She never even glanced this way.
***
BRIN
Work sucks. Again. But at least I don’t have to worry about seeing Rye at the window here. Yesterday he and Ethan watched as I dropped my purse in my attempt to hurry. It’s easy to see him out of the corner of my eye now, due to several days of practice. It’s also pathetic that I’m as good at it as I am.
“Brin?” Harvey Dexter says—my boss and the director of the museum that does nothing.
I look over as he
and a man in a suit that screams money walk toward me. Who is this?
He’s older, but he’s also tall and handsome for his age. His hair is barely dusted by time, and his shaven face is a clean, crisp, version of something familiar. Too familiar. Rye familiar.
Great. Now everyone makes me think of Rye.
Damn it.
“Yes, sir?” I ask, turning my full attention on them and putting my back to the newest exhibit that is slowly wrapping up.
“I can take it from here, Harvey.” The unknown man dismisses the sweating Harvey as though he works for him. Weird.
As Harvey walks off, he throws a questioning look over his shoulder. But I don’t have the answer he’s searching for.
“How can I help you, sir?” I ask, wondering why Harvey didn’t even bother introducing us.
The man smiles as he looks at me, almost seeming proud for some reason. And this is only getting weirder.
“He’s a bit of a worm, isn’t he?” the man asks, looking back just as Harvey turns the corner.
I bite back a grin, but I don’t respond. How can I?
“Um... I’m Brin Waters,” I say instead, sticking my hand out for introductions.
He grins slowly as he takes my hand and shakes it. “So you are. You’re exactly how I pictured you.”
Completely, totally, utterly, awkwardly weird.
“Excuse me?” I ask as he walks toward the Egyptian exhibit with curious eyes.
“I’m the largest silent contributor for this museum. They need my money, so that’s why Harvey was so rattled.”
Is he trying to intimidate me? Because it’s working. I just got nervous as hell. I really can’t afford to lose my job right now.
“Is there something I can do for you?”
I don’t know why I bother to keep asking questions, because he’s apparently only saying what he wants to when he wants to.
“Yes. There is,” he says, surprising me when he finally answers a question I’ve asked.
He faces me and smiles warmly, still seeming a little too happy to see me for my comfort level.
“My name is Rygan Clanton.”
Pretty sure I just got sick. I know I’m pale, and judging by the look he’s giving me, I think it appears like I’m close to passing out... Because I am.
