Breathe Again

by Sydney Logan

  “Why? Have I charmed you?”

  “You’ve charmed my cat.”

  “But not you.”

  “It takes more than a scratch behind the ear to impress me.”

  Josh grins.

  I decide to change the subject.

  “Jared did a good job on the door.”

  “I’m glad. He called to thank me for hooking him up with a date last night. I was this close to kicking his ass because I thought he’d asked you out.”

  “That would have bothered you?”

  “Yes, Carrie. That would have bothered me a lot.”

  “Why? All you know about me is that I work in a diner.”

  “Not true.”

  Josh’s eyes linger on the carpet. On that spot. My face heats and my body trembles as memories flood my mind.

  “There’s more to me than . . . that.”

  “I know, Carrie. I’d love the chance to get to know you. All of you.” Josh shakes his head. “I was in such a bad place that night. Totally and completely numb inside. I’d just buried my little girl. I had zero reason to live. Zero reason to care about anything or anyone.”

  I swallow down the emotion that bubbles in my throat.

  “I read a little about your daughter. I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  His voice is hollow, as if he’s said it so many times that it means absolutely nothing for the words to roll off his tongue. I recognize the detached tone, because I’ve heard myself say the same thing, in exactly the same way.

  “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Having someone tell you how sorry they are. Most people have no idea how you’re really feeling, and yet, they feel inclined to say they’re sorry, and then you feel obligated to thank them for their concern.”

  Josh’s eyes lock with mine. “You’re right. That’s how I feel . . . every single day.”

  “That’s why I moved to the city. I just couldn’t take it anymore. All the misplaced concern and empty apologies. I know people mean well. But they can’t understand. Not really. Not unless they’ve lost someone, too.”

  He tilts his head, and his soft blue eyes meet mine.

  “And you have. You’ve lost someone.”

  I nod. That’s all he gets. I’m not ready to talk about it yet. Josh seems to understand this, because he sighs softly and changes the subject.

  “Where are you from?”

  “A tiny mountain town called Inglewood. It’s about three hours northeast of here. You’ve probably never heard of it.”

  “I have, actually. Our company wants to offer DSL up there. It’s pretty remote, though.”

  “Yeah, it is. And the Internet sucks.”

  “We’d like to try to make it better.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  We grin at each other.

  “Is that what brought you to Nashville? Your hometown’s crappy Internet?”

  “And college. And . . . you know. Some other things.”

  “All the misplaced concern and empty apologies?”

  I nod. Josh reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. That’s when I notice the groove on his finger.

  “Your ring’s gone.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it doesn’t belong there. It hasn’t belonged there in over a year.”

  A thousand questions run through my mind.

  “I’m so confused, Josh.”

  “I know you are. That’s why I’m here.” He squeezes my hand. “Carrie, I’ve been dead inside for years. My marriage—”

  “I saw your wife’s picture. She’s beautiful.”

  “Sloane’s not beautiful. She’s cold. Calculating. Selfish. But most importantly, she’s not my wife anymore. We divorced over a year ago. No one knew. Not even my family. We continued living together . . . attending social functions and family events and playing our roles as Mr. and Mrs. Bennett. But that’s all it was. A role. Sloane had her part of the house. I had mine. We’d meet in the middle to play with our daughter.”

  “Why would you live that way?”

  “Because we had a two-year-old daughter we loved more than anything in the world,” he whispers, his voice breaking with sadness. “She was our world, Carrie. Our sun, moon, and stars. Neither of us could bear to live without her, and we refused to become one of those families . . . the kind that shares custody and trades weekends and holidays. We refused to put our kid through that. We were shitty spouses, but we were great parents. Besides our careers, being her parents was the only thing we did right. So, we faked it, and we were good at faking it. Nobody knew.”

  “That’s why you wore your ring.”

  Josh nods.

  “Why did you take it off now?”

  He bows his head. When he looks up again, his eyes swim with tears.

  “Because the charade’s over. Audrey’s gone. And it’s Sloane’s fault that our daughter is dead.”

  His hands begin to shake, and I hold them a little tighter, hoping to give him something. Anything. Comfort. Warmth. Strength. Whatever he needs. As confused as I am, and as used as I feel, I can’t imagine how this feels. A loveless marriage. A dead daughter. It’s enough to send anyone into a suicidal spin.

  “They were on their way home from the park. Audrey loved playing in the sand. Total beach baby . . .” his voice trails off, smiling at the memory. “Anyway, they were hit head-on by a woman who had enough painkillers in her purse to open a pharmacy. Audrey was thrown from the car. Died instantly. But not Sloane. Just a few scratches and bruises. Because she was a wearing a seat belt. She was strapped in and protected. My daughter wasn’t.”

  I have no idea what to say, so I simply wrap my arms around him. Josh buries his face against my neck and cries softly.

  I don’t say anything, because I know there’s nothing to say.

  Growing up, my dad always preached to me about using seat belts. His old Ford pickup truck didn’t have them, so he never allowed me to ride in the cab. I always thought it was hypocritical—he rode in the truck everyday—so I never understood why it was okay for him but not for me.

  But I was his daughter.

  And like Audrey, I was my dad’s sun, moon, and stars.

  Was.

  After his confession, Josh asked if he could close his eyes for just a few minutes. That was two hours ago. I just don’t have the heart to wake him. He seems to rest peacefully on my lumpy old couch, and if the dark circles under his eyes are any indication, a peaceful night’s sleep is probably a rare thing for him these days.

  Sitting across the room, I slide my fingers through Oreo’s fur while I watch him sleep. I feel like a stalker, but it’s my house. And lying on my couch is a man that is broken in so many ways that I can’t wrap my head around any of them.

  He didn’t say so, but I assume that—at the age of twenty-four—Josh Bennett is a multimillionaire. People clean his house, count his money, drive him around, and still . . . the man is drowning in misery and grief.

  Amy’s right. Money really doesn’t buy happiness.

  Over the past few days, I’ve wallowed in shame and guilt, thinking Josh had used me. That he was just a typical guy who played me for a fool in order to sleep with me.

  But I don’t think that’s true now.

  He hadn’t been looking for sex that night. Starved for affection and deep in despair, he’d been looking for a tender touch. A kind word. A giving heart.

  Josh had found all of that when he found me.

  Out of all the diners in the city, he walked into mine.

  Feeling restless, I push Oreo out of my lap and watch in disbelief as he jumps up on the couch and curls himself around Josh’s leg. I then walk into the kitchen and search the fridge. I decide to make chili. It’s easy, and he’ll probably be hungry when he wakes up.

  While dinner simmers, I consider my options.

  Despite Josh’s promise that he’s healthy, I still went to the clinic. A sweet nurse took my blood and talked t
o me about all the what-ifs that play in a loop in my head.

  I could have an STD.

  I could have a baby.

  I could have nothing.

  I’m lost in thought when a pair of hands settle on my waist.

  “Something smells good,” Josh says softly, skimming his nose along the side of my neck.

  My entire body trembles. “It’s the chili.”

  “I don’t think it’s the chili.”

  Josh pushes my hair aside, and I hold onto the stove as he places a gentle kiss just below my ear.

  My voice is a weak whisper. “You have to stop touching me.”

  “I know.”

  But he doesn’t stop, and my body comes alive when he slides his hand beneath my shirt.

  “Josh, please . . .”

  With a sigh, he buries his face against my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Carrie.”

  He lets me go. I try to ignore how much I miss his touch and concentrate on not scorching the chili.

  “Can I do something?” he offers, his southern manners kicking in.

  “Sure. You can grab bowls from the cabinet. Spoons are in the drawer next to the fridge.”

  Josh sets the table while I bring the chili over.

  “I have bottled water and milk. I’m afraid that’s about it as far as drinks. I’m not here much, so . . .”

  “Milk’s great.”

  Over dinner, he tells me about the family business, but he loses me completely when he starts talking about fiber optics and solar panels.

  “We want to make global communication better,” he says. Then he laughs. “Wow. That sounds corny, doesn’t it?”

  “Not at all. I know my little hometown could use better communication. I wasn’t kidding about the Internet service up there. But that’s the price you pay when you live in the mountains.”

  “Yeah, but there’s a lot to be said about living in the country. It has its advantages, too.” He smiles and waves the spoon toward his nearly empty bowl. “This is delicious, by the way.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you like to cook?”

  I shrug. “Not really, but takeout can get expensive when you’re a college kid on a budget.”

  “What’s your major?”

  “English. I want to be a writer.”

  “What do you want to write?”

  “Novels, eventually. But I’d be happy working at a newspaper for now.”

  “A writer’s life can be hard, Carrie.”

  “Life’s hard. Writing makes me happy. I figure if life is hard, I want to at least be happy while I’m living it.”

  Josh nods thoughtfully. “I enjoy my work, but I don’t know if it makes me happy. Only Audrey did that. Now that she’s gone . . .”

  “You don’t know if you’ll ever be happy again.” I reach for his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. “I understand. I felt the same way after my dad died.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Heart attack.”

  This time, Josh squeezes my hand.

  “I’m sorry you lost your dad.”

  “I’m sorry you lost your daughter.”

  We share a soft, understanding smile before turning our attention back to our dinner.

  “What about your mom?” he asks.

  “We don’t talk much. After Dad died, she drank away every dime he left us. Drank away my college fund, too, which is why I’m waiting tables.”

  “What about life insurance?”

  “Oh, we had it. She drank that away, too. I’m guessing all the money’s probably run out by now. I wouldn’t know since I haven’t been home in a long time. College was my chance to escape. So I escaped.”

  “All by yourself in the big, bad city?”

  “Not at first. I lived with my boyfriend for a while.”

  Josh frowns.

  “I kicked him out a few months ago.”

  “Oh.” He visibly relaxes.

  “You’re not allowed to be jealous. It’s not like I was wearing a ring when we met.”

  He chuckles. “That’s true. Was he at least good to you?”

  “No. That’s why I kicked him out.”

  Josh smiles.

  After dinner, we head to the living room. He’s shared so much with me today, but I still don’t know why or how he ended up in my diner that night.

  “What are you thinking?” Josh asks, sitting down beside me on the couch.

  “Thinking I still have some questions.”

  “Fire away.”

  “That night you walked into the diner . . . where had you been? I mean, you looked like hell, and not just emotionally. I honestly thought you were a homeless guy.”

  Josh closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

  “We buried Audrey on Tuesday,” he says softly, his voice tinged with grief. “After the service, Sloane went home with her parents. Mine begged me to come back to their house, but I just wanted to be alone. I went to my big, empty mansion and sat in the middle of Audrey’s bedroom. I must’ve sat there for hours, just staring at the pinks and purples and all the sparkly shit she loved so much. At some point, I climbed into her bed and fell asleep. I didn’t even change my clothes from the funeral. Just collapsed in her bed. The next morning, I got into my car and drove. I ran out of gas somewhere, so I left the car and started walking. Slept on benches. Under overpasses. Anywhere but my house because I just couldn’t stand going back there. By the time I walked into your diner, I’d been awake for two days.”

  Blinking back tears, I reach for his hand. “When I found you on the bridge, were you really . . . I mean, did you really want to—”

  “Kill myself? Yes, I did. Nothing to lose. Nothing to live for. And every single breath I took reminded me that Audrey would never breathe again.” Josh slides his fingers along mine. “But you didn’t let me do that. You talked me off the ledge. You brought me here and took care of me. You didn’t have to do that, but I’m grateful. And so is my family.”

  “You told them about me?”

  He nods. “When you threw me out, I grabbed a cab and had him take me to my parents’ house. They’d been worried sick and deserved an explanation.”

  “And you said no one would miss you.”

  Josh smiles. “That was just the grief talking. My sister’s particularly interested in meeting you someday. Sonia and I are really close. She’s a food critic and blogger. All she does is eat and write.”

  I laugh. “Sounds like the perfect job to me.”

  Josh smiles softly and gazes at me.

  “It’s getting late. I should go.”

  The two of us walk toward the door. Before he steps out into the hall, he turns to me.

  “Let me take you to dinner.”

  I smirk. “We just ate.”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “I have a night class.”

  “Lunch? Breakfast? Mid-day snack? I don’t care. I just . . . I just want to see you.”

  “I work until three.”

  “And what time is your class?”

  “It starts at five.”

  Josh steps closer. “So we could meet in between? I’ll even come to campus if that’s easier for you. Just pick a place.”

  He looks so hopeful, and the truth is, I really want to see him, too.

  “There’s a fountain by the fine arts building. We could meet there around four?”

  His eyes flicker to my lips, and for just a moment, I’m sure he’s going to kiss me. And he does, but it’s on the cheek. It’s soft and sweet and not at all what I really want.

  “Four sounds great,” he says.

  I’d forgotten what a killer the lunch rush can be. My nightly regulars are sweet, kind-hearted people who know me by name, and I know theirs. They ask me how my classes are going, and they don’t create gigantic messes that I have to clean up.

  These people are just rude.

  One guy spilled his drink on his shirt and blamed me, claiming I’d overfilled the
cup. Another man dropped his burger on the floor and didn’t bother picking it up or telling me about it until I nearly tripped over it while refilling his coffee. And a mom brought her four children, stuck them in a booth, and proceeded to talk on her phone for over an hour while I took care of her kids. When they finally left, I wasn’t at all surprised to find that she’d left just enough cash on the table to cover the check.

  Now I remember why I hate working day shift.

  I’m wiping her kid’s spaghetti off the window when I suddenly feel someone watching me. Glancing up, I find myself staring into the eyes of a pretty brunette with long, curly hair. Her laptop sits on the table, and she’s eating one of Tony’s signature double-decker cheeseburgers that he only makes for his very favorite customers. I don’t recognize her at all, but that’s not surprising since I don’t work a lot of days. She’s not my customer, but she’s staring at me, and Daphne, the other waitress, is nowhere to be found.

  With a tired sigh, I take a break from my window washing and head to the counter.

  “Hi. Can I get you something?”

  “Are you Carrie?”

  “I am.”

  She smiles.

  “Then yes, you can get me something. You can get yourself a cup of coffee and sit down with me.”

  I must look confused, because she starts to laugh.

  “Oh, come on. I watched that woman with her four demons work you like a dog and then stiff you on the tip. You deserve a break.”

  I can’t really argue with that, so I climb onto a stool.

  “No coffee?” she asks.

  “I hate coffee.”

  “Me, too. Smells good, though.”

  I smile politely and glance at my watch. One hour to go. In one hour, I can see Josh, and my crappy day will just be a distant memory.

  “He was right. Your auburn hair is gorgeous. And you’re just as pretty as he said you were. You never know with Josh. He tends to exaggerate.”

  She suddenly has my undivided attention. “You know Josh?”

  “Better than anyone.”

  My eyes narrow. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

  “I’m Sonia. And you are the woman who saved my brother’s life.”

  “Oh.”