Until We Break

by Jamie Howard

  When I push open the front door, I’m surprised to see Mom standing there. She looks almost as surprised to see me, freezing as though I’ve caught her in the act of committing a crime, when all she’s doing is repositioning a vase of lilies on a side table.

  Dad steps into the room, and in three quick strides I’m wrapped up in his arms. The need to cry is overwhelming, but I hold it back, not wanting them to see me cry and ask what’s wrong.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hey, baby girl.”

  “Sloane, what are you doing here? I’ve been calling you,” Mom says.

  I disentangle myself from his arms and fish my cell phone out of my purse. Two missed calls from her, one from Blaire, one from Gran.

  “Sorry, I was driving.”

  “I see that.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress into a knot.

  “Is something wrong?” I divide a glance between them, finally settling on her face.

  My stomach knots as the silence expands, interrupted only by the slow splat of blood droplets on the white marble floor. The cuts on my knee must have reopened on my walk from the car. She finally looks up at me with an indescribable expression on her face—a mixture of fear, guilt, and pain all rolled into one.

  “Sloane, we need to talk.”

  Chapter 25

  Luke

  Seven shots of tequila slosh around my empty stomach, careening off the sides like a small ship being tossed about in a storm. I clamp my lips together, forcing down the bile that’s creeping steadily up my throat.

  It’s the first time I’ve ever needed liquid courage to approach a woman, but tonight, I wouldn’t have been able to walk up to Blaire without it. Everything about this is so fucking wrong. It’s like I’m trying to run a marathon with my sneakers on the wrong feet—it hurts; it’s so painful that I have to push through to the finish line.

  My body is going through the motions, but my mind is off somewhere far away. I have to keep reminding myself that I’m doing this for Sloane. That she needs this, a clean, definitive break to destroy anything that ties us to each other. It doesn’t matter that having sex with Blaire is the last thing I want to be doing. It doesn’t matter that I’ve regretted climbing out of Sloane’s bed from the moment I did it. It doesn’t even matter that, God help me, I’ve fallen in love with her.

  It’s not enough. I’m not enough.

  With every thrust, I feel my heart splintering, crumbling, and cracking. I keep my eyes closed, as much to hide the tortured look I’m sure they hold as to avoid looking at Blaire. I hate using her like this. There’s a very real possibility that this will damage her relationship with her sister, and she doesn’t even know. She doesn’t have a damn clue.

  Just finish.

  So I do.

  Blaire stoops down and picks up her carelessly discarded pants and underwear, but her shirt is still firmly in place. It looks like I can’t even do this right anymore. I pull my jeans back into place, tugging up the zipper. I should say something, but all my energies are being devoted to not breaking down.

  The only thing I can come up with is, “I’m sorry.” And I am. I am so goddamned sorry for so many things.

  She gives me a rueful smile, rubbing a hand up and down my arm. “Listen, I know you’re not the kind of guy to hang around for pillow talk, but I also know this week’s been rough on you. So, if you wanna chat, or if you need something…”

  I do need something. “I need Sloane.”

  Blaire narrows her eyes at me, clearly not expecting that response. “Well, Sloane should be at home. You want me to give you a ride?”

  Shit. I can’t believe I actually said that to her. I need to turn her down, tell her no.

  Instead I say, “Yes,” because I’m weak. Because I’ve finally just realized that I might have made one of the biggest mistakes of my life. Because as much as I might be the absolute worst thing for Sloane, she is the absolute best thing for me.

  It might be entirely selfish of me, but the thought of having to go through this alone is almost more than I can bear.

  Blaire chatters at me during the drive, but I can’t focus on what she’s saying. My brain is too busy playing one single thought on repeat—What have I done?

  I can fix this. I have to fix this.

  My stomach rolls at the thought of having to come clean with Sloane, of having to tell her what I did, not even twelve hours after sneaking out of her bed. I’m not sure she’ll forgive me, but I can’t lie to her. Even if I were that guy, Blaire would tell her anyway, just like I planned for her to do.

  I form the words in my mouth as I walk through the front door, each one of them burning like acid on my tongue. Blaire walks ahead of me and knocks on Sloane’s closed door.

  “Sloane? You in there?”

  Turning the knob, she pushes the door open, and I peek in over her shoulder. Everything is exactly as I left it this morning, other than the fact that now the bed is made and Sloane’s nightshirt is tucked away instead of lying in a heap on the floor.

  “That’s weird,” Blaire says, pulling out her phone and pressing it to her ear. Her volume is up so high that I can hear the phone ringing. A few seconds later it switches over to voice mail, and I’m hit with a wave of longing as Sloane’s voice comes on the other end. Hanging up, Blaire reverses direction. “Gran? You home?”

  “In here,” she yells back. We follow her voice to the living room, where we find her doing some aerobic exercise video, completely outfitted in neon pink spandex and matching headband. Reaching for the remote, she pauses the video, giving us a freeze frame of, I’m guessing, Richard Simmons.

  “Have you seen Sloane?” Blaire asks.

  Bunny gulps down a mouthful of water from her bottle. “Negative. Have you tried calling her?”

  “Yeah, no answer.” Pulling her phone out again, she stares at the screen. “No messages either. She always lets me know if she’s going somewhere.”

  A line crinkles through Bunny’s forehead, and worry starts to snake itself around my throat until it’s getting hard to breathe. Even the possibility that something might have happened to her is this close to sending me into a full-blown panic attack. It catapults me straight back to red and blue flashing lights and a policeman ripping my heart out through my throat. Not again. God, please, not again.

  Bunny tries calling her but gets sent straight to voice mail.

  I finally voice what I imagine is going through everyone else’s head. “Where the hell is she?”

  AFTER Five Years Later

  Chapter 26

  Sloane

  The sun bounces off the whitewashed stone of the walls surrounding my private oasis. Leaning back in my lounge chair, I run a hand down the sun-soaked length of my thigh and rotate my face a mere fifteen degrees to the right to optimize the sun’s rays.

  When my phone vibrates, dancing across the glass-top table to my side, I reach my hand out to snatch it without even bothering to crack an eyelid.

  “Hello?”

  “Sloane, is that you?”

  I sit up straighter, pulling my phone away from my ear to stare at the screen before returning it back to its proper place. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I answer. “Yes, Gran, it’s me.”

  “Well, finally. I was beginning to wonder whether you were dead or if you thought I was.”

  Leaving my lounge chair, I stroll to the edge of the infinity pool and dip my feet in, allowing the cool water to caress my overheated skin. “Nope, definitely not dead. I’m sorry; I meant to call you back.”

  “Glad to hear it. I was talking to your mother the other day and she said—”

  “Is that why you called? To talk about my mother?” I stop my pacing, staring out over the expanse of aqua-colored ocean.

  She sighs, and in one breath it’s like she’s traveled the expanse of the entire Atlantic Ocean to stand next to me. “Sloane—”

  I slice a hand through the air. “I can’t—”
>
  “I’m sick.”

  The line goes quiet. The silence, which five minutes ago had been like a balm, now weighs as heavily on me as a fifty-pound weight. “What do you mean you’re sick?” I say the words carefully, slowly, not really wanting to say them at all.

  “I’m sorry, Sloane. I wanted to tell you in person, but … well, you left me no other option. I’m sick.” She says it one more time, and it pierces through me. “It’s … not great. Now, I’m not saying that I’ll be kicking the bucket tomorrow, I’m gonna fight it, but it would be nice not to have to do it alone.”

  “What’s wrong? Tell me, Gran.”

  “It’s cancer.”

  Another deafeningly silent heartbeat passes. “What can I do? I know you’ve never wanted Dad’s money—Avery money—but it’s not his anymore. The trust fund is all mine. Let me help you. We can find the best doctor—”

  She snorts. “I don’t need your money, Sloane. I’ve got plenty of my own.”

  I bite down on my lip, sucking in a breath. “Then what is it that you want from me? What are you asking?”

  I can hear her hesitation even though I’m standing some six thousand miles away. “Come home, Sloane. I miss you.”

  This time the hesitation is mine. I search the crystal-clear sky, hoping I might find answers somewhere in its perfection. I squeeze my eyes tight shut, already regretting the words as they pass through my lips. “Okay.”

  Another sigh, this time in relief. “Where are you? How soon can I expect you? I need to make sure I whip this place into shape. Wouldn’t do to have my granddaughter walking in to find my underwear drying on the dinner table.”

  I shake my head. Who even does that? Apparently Gran does. “I’m in Greece, so with packing, getting a flight, add in sixteen hours of travel”—I toss my head back and forth as I consider it—“let’s say about three days?”

  The wind whips in my ear from her end, making me wonder whether she’s standing on her back deck or even outside the diner. “Good. Blaire’s here in her room, and Harrison will be up in a short bit, but of course those two will be shacking up together. So, you can—”

  “Hold on.” I freeze, staring down the empty air in front of me. “I thought you said you were alone.”

  “Sloane, this old woman hasn’t seen you in five years. Now you pack up your suitcase and get your butt stateside.” Her no-nonsense tone almost makes me smile. Almost.

  “Fine.” I cave. I always do when it comes to her. Even I haven’t found it in me to push away the one person whose love has been unconditional. The one person whose words were never laced with lies.

  Satisfaction sings in her voice. “Very well; I’ll have the guest room prepped for you.”

  “No.” I shake my head, although she can’t see me.

  “No?”

  “No,” I say it again. “I’ll come back for you, for you, if that’s what you need, but I can’t stay under the same roof as her. Not for my sake, but for yours. I can give you the summer, that’s it.” Even the thought of staying that long is already making me feel trapped.

  I can hear her prepping an argument in the five seconds that lapse, so I cut her off before she can say anything else. “I’m coming because I want to see you, that’s what matters, right? So, let me book my flight. I’ll send you the details so you know when to expect me, and I’ll see you in a few days, okay?”

  “Okay. Three days.”

  “Three.”

  “I love you, Sloane.”

  I study the ocean, which is as empty as I am now. “Good-bye, Gran.”

  * * *

  The speedometer edges toward ninety as the scenery turns into one big blur of green and blue. The Lamborghini is barely breaking a sweat, but I call it quits once I hit triple digits. The tires eat up the road as I speed toward the one place I never thought I’d go back to—Briscoll Bay.

  As I round the corner, I spot a little Toyota pulled off to the side of the road with its flashers on. There’s someone standing next to it, but I don’t even bother looking. I laugh to myself. Nothing changes around this place.

  Not even slowing down, I blow by, the tires kicking up a cloud of dust that engulfs the car and its driver. Once I hit the town, I’m forced to slow down. More than one head turns in the direction of my car, though that’s nothing new. Its bright yellow paint job tends to draw attention.

  Turning into the driveway of the rental, my tires crackling over the gravel, I spy Gran sitting on the porch. Popping open the trunk, I drag my suitcase out and pull it behind me, the wheels bumping over the seashell-lined walkway. My temporary home is a quaint little cottage with a wraparound porch. The siding is a bright blue with yellow shutters, and a giant starfish replica is nailed to the front door.

  Gran stands from her seat, leaning on the pink polka-dotted cane she has fisted in her hand and pulls me into a hug. The sight of that cane stabs through me, and I drag my gaze away from it, back to her face. The years don’t seem to have done any damage to it. Only a few extra crow’s feet that line the corners of her eyes and mouth give any indication that time has passed.

  “There’s my girl.”

  I smile down at her. “Here I am. How are you feeling?”

  Her eyes shift away from mine. “Don’t you worry about me, Sloane. I’m gonna be fine.”

  “If you were ‘fine,’ then I’d still be in Greece.”

  She gives me a look, effectively closing the subject. “Are you sure I can’t twist your arm and get you to stay with me?”

  “Of course you can. As soon as you find somewhere else for Blaire to stay.”

  She clucks her tongue at me. “This thing between the two of you has gone on long enough. It’s about time—”

  I turn off my hearing, blocking out her voice. The sound of it comes to me through a filter, Charlie-Brown style. Five minutes—I haven’t even been here five minutes and already she’s on my case. I don’t know how I’m going to survive two months. This is why I spend my time globe-trotting and staying as far away from everyone as possible.

  Continuing to ignore her, I unlock the front door and pull my suitcase into the front room. There’s a small living room off to my right, furnished with plump beige sofas and bright mismatched throw pillows. The kitchen is straight ahead and has been recently remodeled with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. It’s pretty but won’t get much use from me. The only thing I ever use in the kitchen is the microwave to heat up a packet of Ramen noodles or a carton of leftover Chinese food. Not that I can’t cook—I’d taken full advantage of my culinary-minded roommates over the years—but it seems pretty pointless to make an elaborate meal for one.

  I discard my suitcase in the lone bedroom off to the left. The room is dominated by a large queen bed, and there’s a small bookshelf stuck in the corner, overflowing with tattered paperbacks. Nothing special, but it has everything that I need for my brief stay.

  Slipping out of the bedroom and through the kitchen, Gran chatters at my heels like a pesky Pomeranian. I push through the French doors out onto the deck. This is what I paid good money for. There are a few lounge chairs here, but all I need to do is skip down three stairs and I’ll be standing in the sand. The ocean is so close that I can taste the salt in the air. It’s not the Mediterranean, but regardless of its color, it’s still a gorgeous view.

  I finally tune back in: “… nonsense. You didn’t even congratulate her on her engagement—”

  “Gran.” I interrupt her and she huffs. “I’m not going to congratulate someone on making the biggest mistake of her life. And I’m telling you right now, if this is how you want to spend the next two months with me, I’m going to turn right around, get back in my car, and get on the next plane no matter where it’s going.”

  Her shoulders droop as she senses defeat. “I’m an old woman, Sloane, and before I die I just want to see you happy again.”

  I press my lips into a line. “Are you playing the pity card?”

  “Is it work
ing?” she asks, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

  An unladylike snort bursts from my mouth. “No.”

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She holds my gaze firmly with her own. “I told Blaire that we’d meet up with her for drinks at The Edge.”

  Her eyes dare me to refuse, but I just shrug.

  She eyes my clothes. “I’m going to guess that you’re not going to change.”

  I glance down at my barely there jean shorts and my off-the-shoulder crop top that bares most of my belly and an adequate amount of cleavage. “Nope.”

  She wraps her knobby fingers around my wrist. “You’ll be okay seeing Blaire?”

  I dismiss her concern with a wave of my hand.

  Despite what everyone may think, I really don’t care about being around her. That would require me to give a shit, which I don’t. Other than the harping, she’s the one who prefers not to be around me. She doesn’t like the fact that I no longer keep my opinions to myself, while I don’t like the fact that she lies as easily as she breathes. She calls me a cynic; I call myself a realist. Just because she wants to look at the world through rosy-colored glasses, doesn’t mean I’m obliged to see it the same way or agree with her bright and shiny views of the world.

  I don’t know why people feel the need to surround themselves in pretty little bubbles filled with sparkles and unicorns and kittens and shit. People suck, life sucks, the end. The only thing people are good for is having a good time. And even then, you need to remember to never get invested. Everyone is just one small step away from fucking you over.

  Chapter 27

  Luke

  “Luke, you don’t understand; you’re about to, but you really don’t get it. It’s not sinking through that thick head of yours.” Blaire levers herself up on the rungs of the stool and knocks her hand against my head. “The Sloane you knew is gone. It’s like she flipped some switch and just turned off her emotions. Poof!” She stares at me with crazy eyes and waves her arms around. “She uses her words like weapons, and she doesn’t care who gets hit in the cross fire.”