Broken Course

by Aly Martinez

  A few days ago, I met Mr. Tall, Dark, And Sexy (forget handsome), Leo James, on a busy sidewalk in the middle of Chicago. I was in panic mode and he walked right up and saved the day. Before that, it had been a shit day—one of those that you just wish you could tear from the notebook and start all over with a fresh page. Only, in my book, there are no more fresh pages—I’m writing in the margins these days.

  To say my life has been dramatic for the last seven years would be an understatement roughly the size of the Titanic. My life is a mess. I spent the last two years in either a court-mandated rehabilitation center or some form of therapy after trying to kill myself four times. Oh, and let’s not forget that I tried to shoot my ex-husband. Yep, I’m every man’s dream woman. Yet another reason I can’t go on this date with Leo.

  "Don’t you dare!" Emma shouts, trying to snatch the phone from my hands just as it chirps with an incoming message.

  Leo: I’ve got some bad news. I can’t make it tonight. Work emergency. Rain check?

  I slowly sit down on the couch and stare at the words on the screen. It’s odd—only seconds ago I would have given anything to get out of going on this date. However, now, the disappointment of no longer even having the option is heavy.

  "What’s it say?" Emma asks, obviously reading my expression.

  "He, uh, can’t make it." I try to collect my jumble of emotions. Sure, there was a very small part somewhere in the back of my head that was excited about getting to know Leo James, but I was more excited—and terrified—about the prospect of an actual date.

  It’s been fourteen years since I went on my last first date. Although I’m not even sure you can really call that a date. I met Brett Sharp at a bar when I was twenty-one years old. Our first date was the next morning after he’d spent the night at my apartment holding my hair while I puked. He took me to breakfast, and within three hours, we were having sex on the floor in my apartment. Less than a year later, I married him. We spent seven years together before my life was altered forever.

  That whole whirlwind, wild-abandon love is not exactly what I am going for this time around, but a real date with someone who has no clue who I am—or, better yet, who I was—sounds amazing…and yes, still terrifying.

  Me: Sure. No Problem.

  Leo: Tomorrow?

  "Why the hell can’t he make it?" Emma asks from behind me.

  "Work." I continue to stare at the screen on my phone.

  "What’s he do anyway? Is he loaded?"

  "He owns a security company," I answer distractedly, trying to formulate a response.

  Do I want to go out with him tomorrow night? I think so. Does the idea of going out with him tomorrow make me want to crawl into a hole and hide? Completely. My response must take too long, because my phone chirps again.

  Leo: Feel free to copy and paste. "Sure, Leo. I can’t wait to see you."

  "What’s he saying?" she asks, settling down on the couch next to me.

  "He wants to go out tomorrow night. Em, I can’t do this. He’s going to realize I’m a basket case and it’s going to hurt like hell to swallow that giant pill of rejection. I’m just not ready yet."

  "You’re full of shit. You should have seen the way your face fell when he said he couldn’t make it."

  "I can’t do it!" I yell more at myself than at Emma.

  "What if Caleb and I go with you tomorrow night? We can drop Collin off with his sister and go to a bar. If Leo sucks or if you panic, you’ll have us there as a buffer."

  I laugh humorlessly. "No fucking way."

  My relationship with Emma’s husband Caleb is…well, unusual. Up until eighteen months ago, he hated me. I don’t mean he just disliked me. I mean he wouldn’t have poured water on me if I caught fire. And rightly so—I killed his fiancée. Or at least it had appeared that way at the time.

  Emma’s husband, Caleb, was engaged to my best friend, Manda Baker. He was the only person in the world who loved that fiery redhead more than I did. Emma is my sister by blood, but as far as I am concerned, Manda was no different. There isn’t a single day that passes where I don’t wish that she were still here.

  Seven years ago, I was involved in a car accident that destroyed all of our lives. I suffered a traumatic brain injury that changed my personality so drastically that it left me lost and confused in a life I recognized but was completely emotionally unattached to. And Manda…well, she paid the greatest price of all. She never took another breath after our car collided with that fated tree. I have no memory of that night whatsoever, and because I was the sole survivor of the accident, no one really knew what had actually transpired. However, jaded and grief stricken, Caleb blamed me. And he wasn’t the only one. I blamed myself for Manda’s death as well.

  Eighteen months ago, our other best friend, Casey Black, shed light on what had really happened that night. No one had any clue that she’d even been there when the accident had taken place—much less that she had been driving the car. Her on-again, off-again fling, Eli Tanner, had helped her leave the scene unnoticed. However, before her shocking confession, I’d lived with that guilt. I knew how it felt to be consumed by it.

  The pain of waking up every day knowing what I’d done was crippling. I hated myself, I hated my life, and I hated the very air in my lungs that was absent from Manda’s. I didn’t even know who I was anymore. I had every memory from my old life but none of the emotions to match them. I didn’t get nostalgic when I thought about the past; I felt nothing. The emptiness was agonizing. The only feelings I could remember were attached to the memories of Manda, and she was gone. I couldn’t even remember how it felt to be happy, much less how to find it again.

  My husband at the time, Brett, fought to save me from myself, but it only made me more anxious and confused. I was supposed to love him. I knew that. But I couldn’t figure out why, and I loathed myself so much that I couldn’t rationalize why he would want to love me. But he did it anyway.

  Over those first four years after the accident, I did a lot of things I’m not proud of. I hurt everyone who had ever loved me. As selfish as it sounds, I just needed some way to escape the pain. There was a barrage of people huddled around me, showing me unconditional love, but I felt virtually nothing for them in return. I pushed away my family and friends as I hid from reality. They just couldn’t understand the person I’d become overnight. Hell, I couldn’t understand it myself. So when it became more than I could bear, I finally decided to end it all.

  I survived my every attempt at taking my own life mainly because Brett was absolutely unwilling to let me go. Until, one day, he wasn’t. The day Brett Sharp let me go was the same day I hit rock bottom. Coincidentally, it was also the day I was given back my life.

  I did a lot of terrible things to the people who loved the old Sarah—especially Brett. He didn’t deserve everything I put him through. I was utterly horrible. I’m not too fucked up to be able to recognize that. Even while it was happening, I knew the things I was doing were wrong, but my life had spiraled out of control. Hate and abuse were the only ways I felt I could convey my inner misery.

  I don't make excuses for what I did or the people I hurt. Those actions were my own. I chose them—even if it wasn’t with a sound mind. That woman fired a gun at the only person to stand by her side—that is what I am capable of. I may not be her anymore, but she still lives inside me. And that alone terrifies me more than anything else.

  So, yeah. I’m a real catch. Leo James should count his lucky stars that he got called away for work. He figuratively, and maybe even literally, dodged a bullet tonight.

  "So what do you say? Me, you, Caleb, Leo—double date?" Emma asks while making kissy faces, snapping me out of my inner pity party.

  "Nah. I think I’m going to pass. He wasn’t all that good-looking anyway," I answer flippantly.

  "Shut up. I believe your exact words were, ‘fuck-hot,’" she says, tossing a pair of air quotes in my direction.

  "I lied," I snap, rolling my eyes.


  Leo: *cricket cricket*

  Peeking over my shoulder to read Leo’s latest text, Emma says, "Well, he’s persistent."

  "I don’t want go out tomorrow night," I whine.

  "Say whatever the hell you want, Sarah, but you were stoked when he asked you out."

  "I was just excited. I didn’t think it through. Maybe I should talk to one of my counselors before I jump right back into the dating world." I cautiously turn to look at her, knowing she’s not going to be happy with that answer.

  She curls her lip in disgust. "Seriously?"

  "Yeah, seriously," I answer as my phone starts ringing in my lap. "Shit," I mumble to myself.

  Emma starts laughing when she sees Leo’s name flashing on my screen. I groan but click the little green button.

  "Hello?"

  "YOU GONNA answer my text?" I ask as soon as I hear Sarah’s sultry voice across the line.

  "Yeah. I was just busy. That’s all," she responds, but I can hear a woman laughing in the background.

  "Look, I’ll be out of the loop the rest of the night, so I just wanted to make sure you were good for tomorrow night." I pull into the underground parking garage at my apartment.

  I was on my way back from the florist when I got an emergency call from Johnson. Some celebrity client decided to make a stop over in Chicago to hit one of the strip clubs. He wants a full security detail, and with two guys on vacation, I’m understaffed. I love my job, but as I walk upstairs with flowers in hand, I absolutely resent the interruption.

  "Sarah?" I question when she doesn’t respond.

  "I’m here. I’ll have to let you know about tomorrow. I just started that new job, and…you know."

  "You work on Saturdays?" I ask, knowing that the Tribune doesn’t have office hours on the weekend.

  "Well, no," she answers nervously, and I hear more laughing in the background.

  "Okay, well, I’ll pick you up at seven. Text me your address." I walk into my apartment and toss the flowers to Johnson, who’s standing in the corner with a grin that’s showing off two gold teeth.

  "I’ll just meet you at the restaurant," she whispers as the laughing fades.

  "Why do I feel like you aren’t going to show up?" I ask, unbuttoning my charcoal-gray dress shirt while heading into my bedroom to change.

  "I’ll be there," she assures me, but the slight quiver in her voice reveals her lie.

  "Look, if you’ve changed your mind, you can just tell me. I’m really not used to forcing women to go on dates with me. This whole conversation is not doing good things for my ego right now," I joke, trying to put her at ease. Her anxiety is unexpected based on the woman I met earlier this week.

  "No, it’s not that. I’m just nervous," she confesses just as Johnson walks into the room, temporarily tearing my attention away from the phone.

  "Yo, Leo. We need to move. Sanders arrives at O’Hare in an hour."

  "Load up the truck and get the men briefed. I’ll be right out," I respond before focusing back on Sarah. "All right. Talk to me. What are you nervous about?"

  "No, it’s okay. I’ll let you go. I’ll see you tomorrow night."

  "Are you really going to show up? At least tell me how long should I wait before ordering dinner to go?"

  "An hour," she says with a sigh.

  "Sarah—" I start to let her off the hook, but she interrupts me.

  "I mean, given the way we met, we’ve established that punctuality is not exactly my strong suit. An hour will give me plenty of time in case of a hair emergency, wardrobe malfunction, or cabbie sabotage. I should definitely be able to make it there by eight." Her teasing answer makes me smile.

  "Well, you want to plan on eight then? Ya know, just to be safe."

  "No way, because then I won’t be there until nine. Let’s just stick with seven, okay?" I can almost hear the laughter in her voice as she pretends to be annoyed.

  "So, I’ll see you at seven fifty-nine." I look down, shaking my head. Thank God we are on the phone because I wouldn’t be able to contain my shit-eating grin otherwise.

  "On the dot," she responds. "Oh, and, Leo, I am looking forward to seeing you. I wouldn’t want your clearly sensitive ego to go un-stroked."

  I burst into laughter. "Thanks, smartass."

  "No problem. Goodnight." She begins laughing before hanging up.

  Seven months earlier…

  I SHOULD Feel free. I should feel alive. I should feel like Leo James again. However, even in my own skin, I feel like an imposter. I’m not a man. I’m a coward.

  "Leo!" Erica calls from the balcony of her hotel suite. I tried to duck out before she noticed, but she catches me just before I get to the door.

  "I need to go, babe," I tell her and the light dims in her eyes.

  "Not yet," she whispers, taking a step closer, her eyes already filling with tears.

  "We’ve been dancing around this all day. I need to go."

  "I’m not ready," she says, looping her arms around my waist.

  "Yeah, you are." I smooth down her hair and gently kiss the top of her head. I glance up to find her brick wall of a man, Slate, watching us while standing in the corner. His arms are crossed over his chest, but his concern is staggering. "I’ll see you next week for the wedding," I try to reassure her, but the words catch in my throat.

  The truth is that I’m nowhere near ready to leave her. Our relationship is a prime example of codependency at its finest. Her clear, blue eyes are the only things that soothe the self-loathing burning inside me. She’s also a reminder of why it burns at all. She’s the poison and the antidote wrapped into one tiny, innocent, and foul-mouthed package.

  "Come on, beautiful," Slate says, guiding her arms from around my waist.

  I clear my throat and give her a weak smile as she silently cries tucked into his side.

  Slate extends a hand and I quickly grasp it. We may not have always had the best relationship, but I definitely consider him family now. I’d trust him with my life, and in a sense, by leaving Erica with him, I’m doing exactly that.

  "You’ll be at the wedding on Saturday?" he confirms, never releasing my hand.

  "Wouldn’t miss it," I smile, and it might just be the biggest lie I have ever told.

  I ARRIVE at Shades just a little before seven. I know Sarah might be late, but I gave myself plenty of time to walk downstairs and across the street. I may have picked this place based on the proximity to my apartment. Maybe. Probably.

  Shades is a five-star tapas restaurant and martini bar. After nine o’clock, the atmosphere changes into that of a bar, but before then, it’s a crisp, clean fine-dining experience.

  The hostess guides me to one of the high-tops lining the perimeter of the large, crowded room, and I settle in so I can watch the door for Sarah.

  Finally, at only ten minutes past seven, she comes walking in. I can only see the back of her head, but I’d recognize that white-blond hair anywhere. She’s wearing a pair of tight jeans that cling to her ass and a black shirt that I can tell is tight as well. I lick my lips and head in her direction, knowing that the front will be even better than the back.

  I sneak up behind her and very carefully lean forward to whisper in her ear. "I’m impressed. You actually showed."

  She squeaks from surprise and takes a giant step forward. I begin to laugh before, suddenly, a tattooed arm lands hard against my chest, preventing me from following her.

  "Back the fuck up," the man growls, and my eyes snap to his. He looks downright pissed, and the minute Sarah turns around, I know exactly why.

  "You’re not Sarah," I say, lifting my hands in submission and feeling like a total jackass.

  "No. But you must be Leo." The woman smiles, and a pair of blue eyes I immediately recognize sparkles in humor. "Hi, I’m Emma Jones. Sarah’s sister." She knocks the man’s hand off my chest and extends her own.

  I give her a confused look but take her hand then turn to the man with her. He still looks pissed, but begrudgingl
y nods at me.

  "Caleb Jones."

  "Sorry, man. Leo James. Nice to meet you," I respond, trying to figure out why Sarah’s family is here yet she remains nowhere to be seen.

  Then something catches my eye from the corner by the door. Sarah is standing in a line at the hostess desk, biting her knuckles to stifle a laugh. She uses the other hand to give me a very slow finger wave.

  I shake my head and excuse myself to move in her direction. I weave through the small crowd by the door, stopping directly in front of her.

  "Well, that was embarrassing."

  "It was really funny though." She bites her lips to prevent the laugh from escaping but fails miserably.

  "Hilarious," I say sarcastically.

  She laughs for a second longer before collecting herself. "Hey," she says simply, pushing a hand out for a handshake.

  First, she brought company, and now, she’s trying to give me a fucking handshake? Clearly, she got confused somewhere along the way. Maybe I didn’t make it obvious enough that this is a date, not a business meeting.

  I lift a questioning eyebrow and stare down at her outstretched hand. Fuck that. "You look beautiful." I very purposefully lick my lips while raking my eyes over her body. Given her nerves on the phone yesterday, I know it will make her clam up and look away, but I don’t want there to be any misconceptions about what this actually is. I’m interested in her. She should know that right off the bat—even if it makes her uncomfortable for a few minutes.

  Only Sarah doesn’t seem to be bothered by my overt gesture at all. She tilts her head to the side and does her own head-to-toe assessment of me. I wait for her eyes to travel back up to mine, and when they finally do, she gives me an unimpressed shrug.

  I bust out laughing and she quickly follows.

  "Come on. I got us a table already," I say, placing a hand on the small of her back and guiding her toward Emma and Caleb.

  WHEN THE four of us are seated, the waitress stops by to get our drink orders.