by Autumn Grey
Izzy: Done with school, brother dearest?
Izzy: You must still be in class. Call me as soon as you get this.
Izzy: Are you there yet?
I scroll through the messages, shaking my head.
Jesus. I love that girl, but she can be a pain sometimes.
I look up from the phone only to find Bennett staring at me, one side of his mouth curled in a teasing smile.
“Your wife is a huge pain in the ass, you know that?” I mutter, quickly typing back a reply and failing miserably.
Shit. I hate this. The keypad is too tiny for my fingers, and even when I use the tip of my fingers, I still fumble onto the wrong keys. Jabbing at the keypad with my index, I am frustrated beyond words. The end result resembles that of a three-year-old attempting to draft a text message. I finally give up, close the text box, and call her instead.
“Hey, big brother!” she singsongs on the phone, her voice brimming with mischief. Somehow, she knows that I just spent five minutes struggling to text her back. She is fucking enjoying this.
“I think you love to torture me.”
She bursts into laughter. “I’ve never met anyone who has such a strong aversion to texting like you do. So how was your day? Were the students good to you?”
My thoughts wander back to the moment I saw one student in particular—Miss Blake—sleeping in class. Snoring like a fire truck. In the middle of the day. “It was interesting.”
A gasp sounds on the other side of the phone. “Is that a smile I hear in your voice?”
Surprise, surprise. Sure enough, my lips are slightly pulled up in a small facial grimace. Maybe one that would resemble a smile. “No.”
She chortles gleefully. I swear she sounds just like she did when she was twelve. Carefree and very Izzy.
“I can’t wait to hear all about it at Sunday brunch.”
I groan. “There’s nothing to tell. It was an ordinary class with ordinary students.”
The big hazel eyes, freckled nose and pouty mouth that belong to Miss Blake fill my vision. I squirm on my seat, annoyed that I was able to memorize those details about my student. Or her graceful, long neck. Or the way her hair shone when the weak sunlight filtering through the windows hit it just right.
I cough quietly to get rid of the tightness in my throat, glance across the table from me and meet Bennett’s curious stare.
Shit.
“What should I bring for brunch?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.
If she noticed my tactic, she doesn’t mention it. “Pickles and jalapeño pizza from Jonah’s.”
“Got it. Anything for Matthew and Makayla?”
“A trip to the zoo?”
“Done.” My lips pull up just thinking about my nephew and niece and spending more time with them. “Next week on Saturday?”
She sighs happily. “Perfect. Bennett and I haven’t had a date night in forever, so that’s awesome!”
“Good.”
After wrapping up the conversation, we say goodbye and I stand up to leave.
“See you tomorrow?” Bennett asks in a low, concerned voice. “You going to be okay?”
I nod and leave the VIP lounge, heading downstairs. I walk out of Reed’s Lounge and turn right, toward the main entrance of the building.
“Mr. Rowe,” the doorman welcomes me, slightly lifting his hat in greeting as he hurries to the elevators to punch the arrow pointing upward.
“Good evening, Geoffrey.” I return the greeting with a slight nod while striding inside the elevator as soon as the doors open.
His smile is the last thing I see before the doors slide shut. I lean my back on the mirror behind me and close my eyes. Dread settles in my bones at the thought of stepping inside my lonely apartment. Before I moved here to Jacksonville from Chicago, I lived and consumed that feeling like it was part of my diet, hating everyone and everything. I locked myself away in my condo for days, drinking to numb the pain, to forget my loss. I wanted to die.
Then I returned home and being with my family eased the hurt, eased the ache, but the scars on my body are a brutal reminder I may never be able to use my right arm again.
The pinging sounds jolt me away from my thoughts as the elevator reaches the fifteenth floor. I step out and head to my front door, exhausted. The gleaming 200-year-old Montagnana propped in its stand in the living room greets me as soon as I walk in, an inheritance from my father after he passed away years ago. Momentarily halting next to the cello, I gently pluck the strings with the fingers on my left hand, shutting my eyes as the sweet sound thrums through my veins.
God. I miss playing it so much.
Reality kicks in, forcing me to face the fact that I may never be able to play the instrument again, and the crashing pain settles in. Turning around, I storm toward the small bar on the other side of the room near the kitchen and grab the bottle of Macallan 18 my friend Wade sent me a few weeks ago from Chicago. I pour two fingers of the light mahogany liquid into a tumbler and toss it into my mouth, savoring the satisfying burn down my throat, numbing the ache of my loss. Then I head to my room and strip down to my boxers. I’m out as soon as my head hits the pillow.
I jolt awake, my heart racing, and a soundless scream is lodged in my throat. My hand shoots out, fumbling around for the side lamp in the dark. Seconds later, the room is illuminated in a soft light, and I have to squint my eyes to shield them from the sudden brightness. I turn to my side and my gaze connects with the framed photo on my nightstand. Smiling blue eyes stare back at me, and I take my time, taking in the elegant features on that face that once was, but no longer is. Guilt is like a sharp knife, slicing through me, replaying that nightmare over and over until I feel I can’t get air in my lungs quick enough.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I brace my elbows on my knees and drop my head in my hands. I close my eyes as the last flash of blue eyes dissipate in my mind’s eye.
Dragging my fingers through my hair, I stand up and head to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I return to my room, grab a pair of lounge pants and a T-shirt from the dresser and pull them on, then stride to the kitchen. Once I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and a small, black leather case from the cabinet above the sink in the bathroom, I walk toward the windows overlooking the river. Sliding the balcony door open, I step out into the cool night air. I set the bottle of water on the table, sit down and unzip the black case. My fingers bypass the black vape pen and snatch a joint instead, along with a lighter. Sitting back in the chair, I light it up and take a few hits. I feel the tension slowly leave my body, and my muscles begin to relax.
Another fucking sleepless night.
I close my eyes and let the drug sweep me into its welcoming arms, erasing the haunting memories.
For once in a long time, I let myself forget.
Forget the constant guilt.
Forget life screwed me over and ripped my dreams out from under me.
Forget everything and welcome the feeling of weightlessness taking over my body right now.
THE DOOR TO MY ROOM slams open, cruelly ripping me out of the hot make-out scene I was immersed in in the novel I’m currently reading. I glance up and see my roommate and best friend, Amber, stroll in with a huge grin on her face. She snatches the half-eaten Snickers bar from my hand and shoves the entire thing inside her mouth before throwing her petite body on top of my bed and moaning scandalously.
“God, I think I’m about to have an orgasm,” she says, rolling her eyes back while writhing on the bed.
“I was about to have one myself, but you interrupted me,” I say, shifting a little on the chair to alleviate the pressure on my clit. “Damn, that Holt guy knows how to put his mouth to proper use. He was about to slide his quivering member into her moist channel. . .” I deadpan.
Amber stops squirming and covers her ears. “Ugh. Stop. Jesus, E. Now that image will be stuck inside my head for a month. Thanks for ruining my sex life.”
&nbs
p; I laugh, knowing she’ll be rolling between the sheets with Alex before the day is over. They break up as often as they make up. But at least she has regular sex.
Me? I get my fill from book boyfriends, the shower head and my vibrator—when I’m lucky enough to snag that elusive O.
“Spill everything,” Amber orders with a little too much enthusiasm and a shimmy of her shoulders.
Sighing, I grab the bookmark on the bed and place it between the pages, so I can pick up later. Then I set the book next to the neat row of pens on my desk.
When Amber gets like this, there’s no way I’ll be able to get any reading done. Besides, I haven’t seen her the whole day. I need an update on how her appointment went with the doctor.
I pull my legs up on the chair and sit cross-legged to face her. “Spill what?”
“The new professor, silly.” Amber rolls her eyes. “Everyone is talking about him. Rushmore hasn’t buzzed with so much excitement since—” Blood drains from her face, the rest of that sentence freezing on her tongue as she stares at me with wide, sympathetic eyes.
“Since Rick,” I finish the sentence for her.
Rick is my ex-boyfriend. He and I dated for a year and a half before things went south. The last time I saw him was when he was being escorted by the police from the campus grounds after violating the restraining order I had against him.
“Shit! I didn’t mean to bring that up—”
“It’s fine.”
She sits up and scoots over to the edge of the bed. “It’s not. I shouldn’t be allowed to open my mouth.”
“Stop, Amber. It’s fine, really.”
She drops her gaze to her hands and bites her bottom lip between her teeth. Her eyebrows pinch in a frown.
I wait, wondering if she’s going to tell me what’s on her mind. Something else is going on; I can feel it.
Leaning forward, I capture her fidgeting fingers with my hand to still them. “What is it?”
Her head jerks up, and she stares at me nervously.
“What?” I ask in a panicked voice. The only reason I can think of for behaving the way she is is that maybe her doctor’s appointment didn’t go well. I whisper, “Tell me. What did the doc say?”
She smiles, looking relieved. I notice color flooding back to her face. “He prescribed a different medication. I have another appointment scheduled in a week to monitor the insulin resistance.”
I nod, exhaling in relief. She’s a type 1 diabetic. She’d been sick the past few weeks until she went to her doctor, who referred her to a specialist to get a full checkup.
I sense this is not what she wanted to tell me, but I don’t press on. Instead, I squeeze her hands and say, “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”
She nods, tears brimming in her eyes, even though she’s smiling. I prefer to keep my emotions in check, but with Amber, it’s different.
We met the first day of school two years ago when I walked into my dorm room and found her curled up on her bed, sobbing her heart out. It was then that she told me she was scared of being alone. Her parents had sheltered her her whole life. And when she told them that she wanted to attend college in Florida, they had been heartbroken since it was far away from her home in North Carolina. Feeling confused, I had asked her why she was crying when she was the one who wanted to attend school here. She had told me that she wanted to be independent from her parents. She wasn’t sure if she was crying because she felt relieved or because she missed her doting parents. Then Amber pulled me on the bed and demanded to be hugged. The only people I was close enough with to hug were my mother and sisters. Imagine my awkwardness when she grabbed me and wrapped her skinny arms around me, holding on for dear life. When she eventually let me go, I made her tea and we sat down and talked for hours.
I had never opened up to anyone about my family. It had been such a relief to talk about it, my family’s history: my abusive father, my mom who spent most of my childhood trapped in her own mind, Nor’s self-harming. About Cole and my dad’s obsession with Cole’s mother, which eventually led to Cole being locked up for two years. I remember that horrible night years ago when I woke up to the sound of screaming and crying. I rushed out of my room and toward the stairs with Elise and froze in the middle of the steps. There stood Nor, crying as my drunk father loomed above her. I’d never seen him so angry before. Then everything seemed to move quickly. My mother trying to stop my father, Cole rushing through the door, fists flying. Then the police cars arrived, blue and red lights flashing, responding to the intruder in their fellow policeman’s house. Minutes later, the police car drove off with Cole in it. After a little tryst which should never have happened during a visit organized by the warden, who was a friend of my grandmother, Joce and Cora, my nieces, were conceived. Upon my dad confronting Nor to ask if she was pregnant and who was responsible, Josh stepped up and declared the baby was his to avoid my father from sending his goons to rough up Cole in jail. After Cole’s time was up, my father drove him out of town on the same day Cole was being released. Little did he know Josh had confessed, and my darling father had orchestrated his revenge perfectly. Nor and Josh walking down the aisle on the day of Cole’s release from prison.
Every single thought bottled up inside me poured out in a torrent of words. I had expected her to run. But she didn’t.
Amber grabs one of the numerous lilac pillows scattered on the bed and throws it at me. “Your turn. Is he hot?”
Hot doesn’t do Professor Rowe justice. I nod and say, “Very hot.” I blow out a breath and then drop my face in my hands. “He found me dozing on my desk when he walked in. I prefer to forget it ever happened.”
“Oh my gosh! What did he say?” she asks excitedly, and I lift my face.
Straight-faced, I announce, “He patted me on the head and kissed my cheek.” She gasps, her eyes wide with anticipation. If she was a cartoon, she’d have hearts for eyes right now. Amber believes in happily ever afters, which makes me a little envious sometimes. I wish I was wired that way like her.
I laugh and say, “God, he was so annoyed, and I was so embarrassed.”
She swats my arm and chuckles. “What happened to Professor Harris?”
“Early retirement.” I reach for the white envelope on my desk and give it to her. “I found this on my desk in the office.”
She takes and reads it, then slips it back in the envelope. “So the new professor is here to stay?”
My stomach flutters at those words. “Maybe.” Shit. I hate my breathy voice right now. She frowns, not missing my reaction, so I say, “Nathaniel Rowe.”
“What?”
“The new professor. It’s Nathaniel Rowe.”
The confusion fades, and comprehension fills her brown eyes. “No way. Your Nathaniel Rowe? The guy you’ve been crushing on since forever?” Her voice is full of disbelief and awe.
“The one and only,” I groan. “Why did it have to be him?”
She snorts. “So it’s like your fantasy came to life. Talk about fate, you lucky bitch.” She does this pretend-shiver thing with her entire body. “Music Theory just got a lot more interesting. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed Professor Harris’s class. But a thirty-year-old cellist who looks like a GQ model? Sign me up for that shit.”
I roll my eyes, snatch the envelope from her hand and toss it on the table.
“Holy shit! So if he’s replacing Professor Harris, it also means you two will be working together!”
I sigh and nod.
Feeling edgy, I begin arranging the pens on my desk by color order, making sure the distance between them is the same.
“It bothers you.”
“I hate change.”
She grins wide and bounces a little on the bed. “This is a good change, E. You’ll be working with someone you look up to. Not very many people get a chance like this.”
I know she’s right, so why do I feel anxious every time Professor Rowe wields his stare on me?
“Let’s order dinne
r, yeah?” I grab the menu of the local Turkish restaurant we usually order from and pretend to read it. “What do you want?”
I feel her curious gaze on me, but she doesn’t press me for answers. Instead, she hops down from the bed and says, “I’m heading out to get some tampons at the store. I’ll pick dinner up on the way back.”
“Sure. Just the usual for me.” The usual being rice with baba ghanoush, extra spicy.
She nods and smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She walks toward the door but stops suddenly and turns around to look at me, chewing her bottom lip nervously.
“What is it?”
She sighs and shuffles back to stand beside me. “I need to tell you something. I’ve really struggled with this the past week, but I can’t keep it to myself any longer.”
“Keep what to yourself?”
She looks like she’s about to cry. “You’re finally happy after he left.”
He, meaning Rick.
My stomach bottoms out. My heart skips several beats before thudding painfully in my chest, and I can hardly hear a sound through the pounding in my ears.
No. Shit, no.
“Elon?” Amber’s touch on my arm stills the raging thoughts inside my head. “Rick. . . he contacted me last week.”
Just hearing his name out loud. . . God. I run my hands up and down my arms to soothe the goosebumps on my skin. My breathing hitches and my throat starts to constrict.
Amber drops to her knees and begins rubbing circles on my back.
“Shit. I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “This is the why I didn’t want to tell you,” she says in a worried voice. “Come on, breathe, E.”
