by Jamie Howard
Luke catches sight of my face and his expression goes blank. Is he battling the same memories? Somehow I doubt it. I’m just another notch in his very tall bedpost.
I force my feet to move. One, two, three steps and I’m inside the room.
Gran starts forward. “Can I get you some—”
“No.” I hold up my hand and she stops. “Please leave me alone.”
“Sloane—” Luke says.
“Just get out!”
He hurries back out through the door and I slam it behind him. I grasp at the threads of my unraveling composure, blinking rapidly to try to stem the burn of tears. I cross to the dresser and wrap my hands around its edges, taking deep steadying breaths.
I stare myself down in the mirror. It’s just a room. It’s just a bed where a stupid mistake happened to a stupid girl a long time ago. You’re past this. You’re not that girl anymore. It’s nothing, remember?
I close my eyes. It’s nothing. Nothing.
Coaxing the memories and the pain back into the box, I slam the lid shut.
Pressing away from the dresser, I rip the comforter off the bed and stuff it in the closet. I kneel next to my suitcase and search through it. Pulling out some of the soggier pieces of clothing, I lay them out around the room to dry. I dig deeper into the corner until my fingers come into contact with the sharp edges of a ziplock bag.
Pinching the corner, I drag it out, sinking down onto the floor so I don’t soak the now comforter-less mattress. It’s one of the big freezer bags with the heavy-duty zip on the top. I rip it open and pull out the stack of pictures, hoping that these memories will be able to crowd out the old ones.
I flip through them slowly.
There’s a picture of me outside the Louvre, and another one at the Parthenon. I grin when I come across the one of the naked painting I commissioned of myself in Paris. The original painting is stored away safely somewhere. The photos are littered with faces—fat, skinny, old, young, men, women. On the back of each one is his or her name, scrawled in my half-print, half-cursive writing.
This five-inch stack doesn’t do justice to the full collection of photos I have, but I carry my favorites with me, displaying a few choice ones in the places I stay for more than a few nights.
My fingers hesitate as I near the end of the pile, debating whether or not I should just put them away right here and now. But I push through it, if only to prove to myself that I’m still hanging on.
The first one is of Blaire and me, our faces smashed up together, our smiles so wide that our eyes are practically closed. The next is one of Cash on the beach. Grains of sand speckle his hair, and there’s a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. The tips of his ears are pink from the sun, and he’s wearing the most genuine of smiles. My heart clenches in memory.
I flip to the next one. Me and Luke. The sun was just sinking below the horizon, painting our faces in rich tones of red and gold. I trace a finger over my face. I look so happy, so carefree and full of life. I look … naive.
Tossing the pictures onto the dresser, I comb my fingers through my damp hair and draw it back into a messy bun. My ribs complain as I lift my arms up, but I ignore it, pushing through the pain. I slip into a pair of spandex capris, a neon yellow tank top, and running shoes.
The wall I built up around myself is already starting to crumble, and I can’t let it happen. If they think they’ll be able to resurrect the old Sloane, they’re in for a rude awakening. I told Luke he would lose this game, but he came to play. The Evelyn comment was a low blow, a direct hit to my heart that left a sizable bruise behind. The problem for him is that’s the best card he has to play, while I still have aces in the hole.
* * *
Beads of sweat dribble down my neck and back by the time I reach the cemetery. I pull up, enjoying the burn in my quads and hammies. There’s nothing like getting your endorphins pumping to wipe away a bad mood.
The stones grind together underneath my sneakers as I walk down the path. All these years later and I still know exactly where Cash is buried. I twirl the stem of a daisy between my fingers, its soft white petals lifting toward the sun. I considered getting a rose, but there’s something cheerful about daisies that I thought Cash might enjoy. Or would have enjoyed.
I find his headstone with ease and squat down before it, placing the daisy at its base. I trace my fingers over the engraved lettering—CASH WARREN EVANS. A boulder sits on my chest, but I try to breathe through it.
“Hey, bud,” I say, feeling stupid for speaking to a slab of stone. I’m fairly certain that the afterlife doesn’t exist, and even if it does, I doubt Cash would be hanging around here for periodic visitors. Even so, on the off chance that he can hear me, I speak to him. “I want you to know that I’ve never forgotten you. I think about you everywhere I go. I even ate an entire can of whipped cream last year on your birthday just for you.” I swipe away a stray tear, and chuckle.
“Okay, it was partially for me too. I’m sure Luke comes to see you, too, but you should know that he looks happy. He’s dating this super boring chick who you’d eat for breakfast. And her name is Haley—ugh, what a terrible name.” I finger a strand of grass and glance around me. Not a soul in sight. Or no living ones anyway.
I sigh. “I think I also wanted to come by to apologize for what I’m going to do. I can’t help but think you’d be disappointed in me for it, but it’s the only way I know how to protect myself. I’m barely holding it together most of the time. Who would have thought that Luke would have everything together and I’d be the one falling to pieces?” I scrub a hand through my sweat-drenched hair as the sun burns down on my back. It might be the first time in years that I’m actually being truthful. I play the part of the unaffected, carefree, disenchanted girl so well that sometimes I even manage to fool myself. But it’s all an act, a ruse I designed to hide from the bone-deep, soul-wrenching pain.
“I haven’t forgotten you or that summer or anything else. I’ve just hidden it away somewhere where it doesn’t have the power to hurt me anymore. I miss you, little guy, and if you’re up there eating whipped cream and playing games, I hope you’re kicking some Chutes-and-Ladders butt.”
When I stand back up, I press the heels of my hands hard into my eyes, count to five, and then blow out a breath. I rein in my surging emotions until they’re fully under control again. Breaking back into a jog, my bruised ribs call out in pain, but I ignore it. I head back the way I came, down the road and back through the center of town.
I’m making pretty good time, when a guy steps around the corner of the post office and we collide with a resounding crack. We go down in a pile of flailing limbs. A bag of groceries misses my head by about a foot, spilling its contents out across the sidewalk.
Rolling up onto my hands and knees, I reach for an apple that rolls past me, scooping up an overturned box of Frosted Flakes that landed by my side. I give myself a quick once-over, rotating each ankle without any pain. Small scrapes dot my knees and hands, but that seems to be the worst of it.
My accidental assailant pushes up into a sitting position. “Shit. There go my groceries.”
I shoot him a dirty look. “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”
His hazel eyes flicker to me, and there’s something familiar about them. “Sorry, Sloane, I guess I should have looked both ways, huh?” He laughs and flashes me a grin. My mind finally places the face—Archer.
Together, we manage to rescue the majority of groceries, although there’s a banana and a few eggs that suffered untimely deaths.
“I heard you were back for the summer,” he says.
“Here I am.”
He sizes me up in a typical male manner, his eyes lingering in the area of my chest. “You look great.”
“Thanks. You don’t look half bad yourself.” It’s not even a lie. His dark-blond hair is cut short, but even in his T-shirt and shorts I can tell that he takes good care of his body. The muscles in his arms flex against the thin co
tton of his shirt as he shifts the bag of groceries from one hip to the other.
We walk together down the street until we get to his car. He sits the ripped brown paper bag on his front seat and slams the door shut. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“No, definitely not,” I say, leaning against the hood of his car. “No strings for me.”
“Would you like to go to dinner sometime, then?” he asks, flashing me a charming smile.
“I’d love to.”
“Great.” He searches through his glove box and comes up with pen and paper. Scribbling down his number he hands it to me. “Give me a call sometime when you’re free.”
I smile back at him. “Will do.” Putting my feet back solidly underneath me, I turn and walk backward away from him. “It was really great bumping into you today.”
He laughs. “You too, Sloane.”
It takes another ten minutes to jog back home, and by then I’m feeling grimy and gross. Stepping in from the ninety-degree heat into the air-conditioned foyer of Gran’s house, I heave a sigh of relief. I glance into the living room and see that we have a new addition from when I left.
“Hey, Harrison,” I say, giving a wave to Blaire’s fiancé. He’s sitting in the armchair, his boat shoe bouncing as his ankle rests on his knee. His sun-bleached blond hair is messily styled in short strands, and his blue button-down fits snugly over his muscled chest. The one and only time I met him he seemed at least decently tolerable. Although, the fact that he’s a friend of Luke’s and that Luke set the two of them up earns him negative brownie points with me.
He gives me a wave in return, his brown eyes smiling. “Hey, Sloane.”
The required pleasantries exchanged, I let my eyes skate over Haley and Blaire, who I ignore, and make a brief pit stop in my bedroom for a change of clothes. Skipping up the stairs, my footsteps echoing in the small hallway, I dump my clean clothes on the toilet seat and turn on the shower. Steam curls from underneath the shower curtain, fogging the mirror.
I’m down to my underwear before I realize I don’t have a towel. Peeking my head out the door, I find the coast clear, so I slip out to the linen closet. Tiptoeing back to the bathroom, voices from downstairs travel up to me.
“It’s settled then; we’ll go to Luciano’s for dinner,” I hear Blaire say.
“Are you going to invite Sloane?” Haley asks.
“That’s probably not a good idea.” Blaire replies on a sigh. “You’ve seen how she can be, and I just don’t have it in me to do battle with her tonight.”
Haley giggles. “I guess it’s a double date then.”
I close the bathroom door behind me with a quiet click, an idea taking root in my mind. I need to get Blaire and Luke off my back, and the only way to do that is to fight back. I’m here for Gran. Not for Luke or Blaire. I’m not here to take a trip down memory lane or for them to fix me. As far as I’m concerned, I can’t be fixed. The damage has already been done and is irreparable. But if they want to play dirty, then so be it. Dirty happens to be my specialty. Snatching my cell phone off the sink, I dial.
“Hey, Archer. Do you have any plans tonight?” I wait for his response. “Great. Have you ever been to Luciano’s?”
Chapter 31
Luke
My eyes rest on the empty seat to my left. “You really should have invited her, Blaire. I thought the point of this whole thing was to get her back, not push her further away.”
A small frown creases Haley’s brow. Despite their initial meeting, when I let her in on more of the details, she had instantly offered to help in any way that she could. That’s another thing I love about her: she’s never met a person she hasn’t wanted to help.
“Is it really too much to ask to have one peaceful night out with my favorite people? Really?” Blaire bounces her fork up and down against the white table cloth, making this annoying metallic clanging noise.
“There was a time,” I remind her, “when Sloane was your favorite person.”
She sighs. “Well, she hasn’t been that person in a long time. If you find the old Sloane, feel free to invite her to dinner.”
My arm rests across the back of Haley’s chair, my fingers rubbing against the smooth expanse of her upper arm. I stop and lean on the table. “She was at the cemetery this morning. I saw her coming out on my way to work.”
Blaire’s eyes widen and she tents her fingers together. “Really; well that’s an interesting development. I wonder what spurred that.”
I feel a prick of guilt. Okay more than a prick. I feel like a prick.
Blaire narrows her eyes at me. “What did you do?”
I run a hand through my hair. “I may have compared her to Evelyn.”
Harrison gives a small shake of his head, but Blaire looks like she just won the lottery. “That’s … brilliant!” She does a dodge-and-weave motion in her chair, which looks even more ridiculous in her fancy dress. “Right in the soft spot.”
“Was she upset?” Haley asks, fingering the small diamond pendant on the necklace I gave her for our anniversary.
“You could say that.”
“You mean she responded to you? Like, with actual feelings?” Blaire’s excitement is barely contained as she grins in her chair.
“She hit me, so yeah, I’m gonna say she felt something.”
Harrison bursts out laughing. “Of course she did.”
Haley takes a sip of her water. “So, you think your plan is working then?”
“It looks that way.” Blaire says.
“But we would have been able to get a better gauge on it if Blaire had invited her to dinner,” I add.
Blaire sticks her tongue out at me.
I’m just about to make a suggestion for getting everyone together tomorrow, when I hear a voice say, “Dude, is that you, Luke?”
Four heads turn to look at Archer. “Hey, man, what are you doing here?” I motion to the empty chair. “We’ve got an extra if you want to join us.”
His eyes sweep the table and he gives me a rueful smile. “Thanks, but I’m on a date.”
“Invisible girlfriend?” Harrison looks around.
Archer shoves a hand in his pocket and rolls his eyes. “She’s getting us drinks. I, uh, think you guys might know her.”
The “she” in question weaves her way toward us, a beer in one hand and a glass of red in the other. She looks killer in a tiny dress that is half black lace and half nude fabric. There’s something different about her hair, and it hangs around her in these big wavy curls. More than one head turns in her direction as she walks by. My dick twitches in my pants and I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
Sloane turns a lethal smile in our direction as she passes Archer his beer. “Fancy meeting you here.”
She looks anything but surprised to see us here, and a tingle of apprehension works itself across the back of my neck.
Blaire turns a genuine smile her way. Apparently the news of Sloane visiting the cemetery has put her in a much better mood where Sloane is concerned. “Please, sit. We decided to come last minute and I didn’t even think to invite you.”
Sloane sits in the extra chair and crosses her legs at the knee. She raises her eyebrows at Blaire’s statement. “Is that so?”
The gleam in her eye tells me she knows Blaire’s lying. Archer shifts so that he’s standing behind her chair and rests one hand against its back. I stomp on the small part of me that wants to deck him for being here with her.
“Really,” Haley adds, and Sloane turns to her like she’s a shark scenting blood. “We’d love it if you two would join us for dinner.”
Sloane flicks her eyes up and down Haley, turns to me, and goes for the kill. “Really, Luke, how in the world did you end up with this one? Was it just because she resembles me, or did you run out of people you hadn’t fucked so you took the next available thing?”
“How dare you—” Haley starts to say, her nostrils flaring and her cheeks going bright red.
Sloane puts a hand up, cut
ting her off. “I wasn’t talking to you, Hannah.”
“It’s Haley,” she grinds out.
“Whatever.” Looking at me, she waits for an answer. What I should be doing is defending Haley and saying something to put Sloane in her place. Instead, the only thing that’s crossing my mind is how Sloane’s wine is staining her lips a deep ruby red and I’m imagining what they would taste like as I suck on them. I try to divert some of my blood back to my brain.
“No? Don’t have an answer for that one? How about I ask you a simpler one, one that only requires a one word answer.” She folds her fingers together and rests her chin on them. “Tell me, who was the better lay—”
I slam my hand against the table, making the glasses jump and the silverware clatter. “Enough. I’m not going to talk to you about my and Haley’s sex life.”
Everyone’s head swivels between me and Sloane as we talk. Everyone except Haley, who looks like she’s going to explode at any minute as she stares down Sloane.
Sloane laughs, this high melodic noise that wraps itself around my neck until it feels like I’m strangling. “I’m sorry, Heather.” She pats Haley’s hand. Haley jerks it back and fists it in her lap. “You didn’t let me finish.” She’s staring through me again and my heart pounds heavily in my chest. “I’m just dying to know. Which one of us was the better lay, me … or Blaire?”
It’s like someone set off a nuclear bomb in my brain. If someone was paying really close attention, they might see the mushroom clouds reflected in my eyes. I can’t look away from her even though the table is erupting in chaos, and she’s staring straight back at me, watching me absorb the blow. She’s known this whole time about Blaire and me? And she never said anything? A whole string of four-letter words fly through my head.
“You slept with Sloane?!” Blaire shouts.
“You slept with both of them?!” Haley gestures between them.
“Dude, you slept with my fiancée?” Harrison asks, giving me another headshake.
