Nepenthe (Bracing for Love #2)

by Lindsay Paige

  She does look good in it, that’s for sure. I smile and lean back against the headboard. The hard part is over.

  Or not. “What else is in here?” Olivia asks as she peers into the box.

  “Pictures mostly. Lucy is a sports photographer with the school, and she always took pictures of us before she moved to hockey. There’s even some from when we were younger, I think. She didn’t take all of those, though.”

  Olivia glances back at me. “Can I look?”

  With only a minimal amount of reluctance, I nod. She grabs a few of the envelopes, moves between my legs, and leans back against my chest. Before she opens the first one, she gently squeezes my injured knee. Then she pulls out the first set. Most of these are those Lucy took during games, but there are some from parties or dinners beforehand.

  “Did Lucy take all of these?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s good,” Olivia comments as she pauses on a picture of Patrick, Jon, and me celebrating after Jon scored a touchdown. It’s hard to see myself in my uniform, playing alongside my brothers, in the pictures my sister took. I stopped playing, Lucy moved to hockey, and now Jon will graduate and won’t play anymore. We’ve fallen apart and got distant without the sport to hold us together. “Corey?”

  “What?”

  “I asked if this one was taken during a bad time for you.” She looks over her shoulder at me. In her hands are two pictures, both from two separate parties. The picture she’s talking about is in her right hand, based on how she’s holding it up more. Both are similar. I’m standing in the middle with a brother on each side, and Jamal next to Patrick. Funny how we always seemed to be standing like that.

  The picture in question was indeed taken during a rough patch. It was one of my hardest during my junior year. I had been depression-free for two months and then it smacked into me so hard, it knocked me down for a month. “Yeah, how did you know?” I finally answer.

  She holds up the pictures, side by side. “Can’t you see the difference?”

  I study myself in each of them, trying to discover how she could tell when I was depressed. Then I see it. There’s a difference in my eyes. I drank more, so that doesn’t help the glazed, hooded look, but the misery is clearly shining brightly from them. “My eyes?”

  “And your smile. It’s not as full in this one. That’s what gave it away for me. I love your genuine smiles, and that is definitely not one.”

  There’s no need for me to reply. Instead, I kiss her temple, loving that she can tell the difference. Olivia continues to thumb through them. The next envelope is more of my college games before she finds some from high school.

  “How many girlfriends did you have in high school? You were cute in the high school, boy-ish, cocky football player kind of way.”

  “I wasn’t ever cocky,” I defend. “I did have my fair share, though. I’m not cute anymore, Olivia?”

  “No. You’ve grown into a man and men aren’t called cute.”

  Her answer makes me laugh. “Fair enough. The girls always loved the football uniform the most,” I comment, the humorous tone replaced by a more somber one. I won’t ever wear another one.

  Either Olivia doesn’t pick up on it, or she ignores it. She nods and says, “I can see the appeal, definitely.” Her eyes linger on a particular photo before moving past it. “But it’s not like it’s the only time you’re attractive. Like those faded jeans you wear? Those are my favorite because,” a small sigh escapes her, “you look really good in them. This,” she holds up the pictures, “doesn’t define you. Maybe it did then, but not now. Believe it or not, you’re better because of it too.”

  I softly kiss her shoulder. “Thanks.” My voice is coarse and raw with way too many emotions stampeding inside of me.

  Next, she thumbs through pictures from when we were kids. I lean my head against the headboard, not wanting to look anymore. I could handle the others, but I know what she’ll stumble upon with these. And that, I’m not sure I can deal with today. Knowing the moment has to be coming, I slip my hands underneath my hoodie and her shirt to lay my hands on her bare hips, closing my eyes.

  “Oh, Corey,” Olivia whispers. “Such a beautiful family.” I squeeze her hips, so she’ll know I heard her, but I don’t open my eyes or move to look. She shifts against me. “Open your eyes.” I don’t. “Corey, c’mon.” Her voice is so gentle, it hurts. A sharp, intense pain shooting right into my heart. “These are your parents. You should want to remember them, talk about them, and keep their memories alive.”

  “I do want that,” I interrupt. “I just don’t know if I can and it not kill me,” I add quietly.

  “You’ve been holding it in for over ten years, and that’s hurt you more. Just look. That’s all I want.”

  When I do open my eyes, I keep them on her. “You were supposed to stay quiet.”

  One corner of her mouth lifts. “You gave me a free pass when you brought the box out of the closet.”

  My throat tightens from unshed tears before I begin to slide my eyes over to the photo. Olivia returns to resting her back against my chest as I look over her shoulder. There we are. All six of us, smiling, never happier. Mom is holding a little Lucy on her hip and Dad is standing next to her. Patrick, Jon, and I are in front of them in our football uniforms because we just finished a game.

  Dad’s grin is probably the biggest out of all of us. We played an excellent game and he was proud of us. My brothers and I have Dad’s dark brown eyes, while having Mom’s black hair. Lucy’s and Mom’s blue eyes spring to life in the photo. There’s so much of Mom in Lucy, one more reason why we’re so protective of her.

  “That’s one of the last pictures of all of us together,” I finally say, my voice thick. “We were always that happy. Always.” Until they died and I fell apart. My two biggest supporters in the world were gone. There’s nothing I could do to bring them back. No way to cope enough to make it stop hurting. How could life be normal with them not here? No Mom baking us cookies and having us keep an eye on Lucy. No Dad to tell us how we could be better with our game and teach us how to be a good big brother.

  No parents to watch us grow up, graduate, and go to college. No one to walk Lucy down the aisle and attend our weddings. No one for our future kids to call Grandma and Grandpa. No one for us to watch over when they grow old together. We’re going to miss all of that. They will miss it too. How are we ever going to be as happy as we were in that picture when two people aren’t here anymore?

  “I miss them so much.” My voice is rough, which surprises me because I feel like I’m ten again, standing next to my siblings at my parents’ funeral. It was singlehandedly the worst day of my life.

  “I know,” Olivia whispers, handing me the picture before turning so she can hug me. “Tell me about them. One thing about each of them.”

  Two facts. I can do that. I think long and hard first. “Mom loved to sing. She sounded like an angel. None of us inherited that from her, though. Dad liked to help us with our homework. He used to say that we needed a good education and he would always add, ‘Because none of you are moving into the basement as an adult.’ Mom always laughed, but I never really understood what he meant until I got older. I’d do anything for the chance to be able to move into the basement.”

  I set the picture face down next to us on the bed because I can’t look at it any longer. It’s too hard. Olivia tightens her arms around me.

  “They would be proud of you, Corey.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yes, I do. You’re there for your siblings like they wanted. You graduated from college. You’re working and you’re a good man. They would be proud,” she reassures before adding, “We can lie here and be quiet again if you want.”

  No sweeter words have ever been spoken. “Thank you, Olivia.”

  WE STAYED IN bed for most of the rest of the day, except when we ate. Today, I’m feeling good, and I want to get out of the apartment. Who could have guessed that would ever h
appen. Olivia spent the night with me and spends most of the day with me as well.

  “Time for you to go,” I declare.

  She glances over at me, still wearing my hoodie. “Why?”

  “Because you need to get ready. We’re going out.”

  She doesn’t ask questions. Olivia gives me a wide smile, a quick kiss, and then she leaves for her place. I get ready myself and then spend twenty minutes waiting on her in her living room.

  “Hey,” she says as she enters. “Want to do yoga and watch One Tree Hill when we get back? You’re going to feed me, right?”

  Chuckling, I stand. “I might. I found an even bigger arcade here, which is where we’re going, so you can play for your dinner.”

  “Are you going to play for my key again?”

  “Yep. And you’ll pay for dinner too.”

  “You have a deal.” Once we’re outside, Olivia dangles her keys with a smirk. “I’ll drive.”

  “Olivia, no,” I tell her firmly. Unfortunately, our cars are parked within three spaces of one another. “I’m taking you out, so I’ll drive.”

  “But I love driving—” she tries.

  “Because you try to imitate what you do in the game. No,” I repeat, opening the passenger door to my car. “Let’s go. If you win, I’ll let you drive us home.” Compromise is a requirement for relationships, right? Too bad this compromise could get me killed with her driving. That’s exactly what she needed to hear to get into my car, though.

  “I drive like a normal person, Corey,” she speaks once we’re on the road.

  “A crazy normal person,” I correct. “You’re the reason guys say girls don’t know how to drive.”

  Olivia makes an irritated groan. “I’m going to take much pleasure in kicking your ass and scaring the hell out of you when I drive home.”

  There’s no way I can lose now. I was already determined because I want her spare key, but even more so after hearing that. The drive doesn’t last long and Olivia wastes no time once we walk inside. We exchange cash for coins and she drags me over to the air hockey table first.

  “No rules,” she says before dropping the puck onto the table and shooting it towards me. I score within seconds. “Son of a bitch,” she grumbles and I try to hold back my laugh. My smirk, however, refuses to hide. Olivia glares at me.

  I’m on my game today because I win within the next two minutes.

  “Best three out of five,” she comments, restarting the game.

  We rally back and forth for about thirty seconds. I can feel her determination from over here, so I start thinking of ways to distract her. Since she said no rules, all is fair. As the puck glides across towards her, I blurt out, “I love you.”

  “Huh?” She looks up, her hand still, and it’s enough for me to score. “Damn it, Corey! That’s not fair.”

  “Yes, it is. You said there weren’t any rules.”

  Olivia groans. “Fine.”

  We get back to playing and she ends up winning this round. Unfortunately for her, I win the next two. She’s not wearing a low-cut shirt today, so she can’t use her body as means to distract me. At least, not in that way. We move to darts next. Olivia starts off winning, but loses focus along the way when I wrap my arms around her waist and whisper a few dirty sentences into her ear like last time. When it’s my turn to throw the dart, Olivia stands in front of me, snaking her arms around my neck.

  “What are you doing?” I question, poised and ready to throw.

  “I’m going to kiss my boyfriend.” She smirks. Then she tilts her head a little, leans forward and kisses me. I kiss her back, keeping my eyes open, as I turn us enough for me to see the board out of the corner of my eye. God, let’s hope my aim is good. With a flick of my wrist, the dart goes flying. Olivia pulls back as she hears the thump of contact. We both look to see where it went. Olivia laughs. The thump was it hitting the wall, softly landing on the carpet below. “Sucks for you,” she sings.

  From then on, I do one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Ignore Olivia and her antics. She still wins a few of the games, but by the end of the night, I’ve won by three.

  “Hmm. Maybe we should have steaks tonight. Or lobster. Or something expensive,” I ponder aloud as we walk to my car.

  “You won, so whatever you want.” She shrugs her shoulders.

  “You’re being awfully nice for a sore loser.” It’s odd, really.

  Once we’re in the car and heading to the restaurant, Olivia finally responds. “Maybe that’s because I let you win.”

  “You what? You did not. You hate losing. There’s no way you let me win.”

  She sighs. “It’s better than saying I lost because I suck. Let a girl dream, Corey.”

  “You’re just having an off day. You can redeem yourself later this week with the racing game.”

  Olivia smiles in appreciation.

  “OKAY, HERE YOU go.” Olivia’s voice is nonchalant as she hands over her spare key. We’re sitting on her couch, watching One Tree Hill. I run my thumb over the rough edge as she adds, “Use it responsibly.”

  My lips quirk into a smile. “I will. Thanks, Olivia.”

  “It’s no big deal. We only live across the hall from each other.”

  I pull my spare from my pocket and hand it to her. “Here’s mine. This isn’t a big deal to you? That I’m letting you have it all the time. So this way you don’t have depend on whether it’s in my genius hiding spot or not.” I lay an arm around her shoulders, tucking her into my side. “It’s not a big deal that I’m trusting you with my key and therefore my apartment?” I finish softly.

  Her voice is soft when she speaks, turning the key over in her fingers. “You’re right. I guess I got nervous for a second. Anyway, thanks.”

  My brows tug together with displeasure. “Why were you nervous?”

  Olivia takes a big, shaky, deep breath. “It’s a large gesture and you mean so much to me. I don’t want something to go wrong with us. I don’t want to have to ask you for my key back or for you to have to ask for yours back. For a second, I was worried about that. Totally normal. No need to think about it anymore.”

  “As long as you don’t give up on me, then you don’t have to worry about anything. Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”

  THE WEEK GOES pretty well. I feel good, and that makes a world of difference. We’ve started a new project at work, which I’m really excited about. This time, we’re fixing up an old house. I’ve enjoyed learning more. Today, I leave early for an appointment with Ms. Cynthia. I’m sitting in the waiting room, waiting because what else do you do here.

  My phone buzzes in my hand with a text. Then buzzes again with a second. I slide my finger across the screen to see one from Patrick and one from Olivia.

  Patrick: Luce wants us to go to NHL game for your birthday. Said you liked hockey now??

  Olivia: You’re on your own tonight. Chelsea is taking me out. :)

  I take a moment to text Olivia first.

  Me: Have fun.

  Then I text Patrick.

  Me: I’ve seen two games on TV and it wasn’t that bad, so yeah, I liked it. Sounds fun.

  Patrick: It’ll be Saturday. Is Olivia coming? Luce said since it’s your birthday, you can bring her if you want

  Me: Will let you know. Later. Therapist appt

  I hit send and stand to follow Ms. Cynthia to her office.

  “How are you doing today, Corey?” she begins.

  “Pretty good actually.” I catch her up on the last week.

  “I’m impressed with your progress. I’m proud of you and I’m happy you have someone like Olivia on your side. Talking seems to be getting easier for you.”

  I laugh because I still don’t like it. “Easier, yes, but not preferable.”

  Ms. Cynthia doesn’t look amused. She clasps her hands together and leans forward a bit in her seat. “You are the type of person who likes to keep things inside. You truly do prefer it that way, even though it hurts more. Even though it
can hurt those around you. The thing is, you like talking too. But it’s harder and why you don’t prefer that. There’s something I want us to discuss today and I don’t want you to put up a fight.”

  My muscles immediately tense and my hands start to sweat. “But I’m having a good day,” I protest quietly. What does she want to talk about anyway?

  “I’m not going to ruin it. This will be good for you. Do you trust me? I won’t continue unless you give me the green light.”

  “I guess.”

  The moment before she speaks, I decide that no, I do not trust her.

  “When did your parents die?”

  My lungs halt mid-breath. No. She wants to do this today? She waits patiently for me to begin breathing again. “I was ten,” I mumble, looking down at my legs and running my hands over my jeans.

  “Before this weekend with Olivia, when was the last time you talked about them?”

  “I’ve talked about them maybe six times since they died.” My chest aches. I wish it was a sharp pain, but no. It’s the kind I’m more familiar with. A dull hum of pain that’s steady and unwavering. I rest my elbow on my knees, fold my hands together, and place my chin on them.

  “It must have been hard to lose them both at such a young age. Who did you lean on?”

  I frown. “What? I didn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Sighing, I close my eyes for a moment. “I’ve talked to Olivia about this some. Do I have to do this?”

  Ms. Cynthia shakes her head. “You don’t have to do anything, Corey.”

  She wants me to talk, though.

  “Look, they were killed. They didn’t just die. Someone took their lives while my sister was there. I needed to be strong for her and for my brothers. I didn’t want to lean on someone. I didn’t want to cry. I wanted my fucking parents and neither of those things would bring them back. So, I didn’t lean on anyone. I didn’t cry. I was there for my siblings and I played football.

  “I’m not sure what you want me to tell you. To this day, I don’t want to talk about them, I don’t want to see pictures of them, and I don’t want to think of them more than I have to. That kind of pain…” I shake my head. “It’s as potent as the day we buried them. It doesn’t go away, doesn’t lessen, and sure as hell doesn’t help to talk about it.” She should pat me on the back for staying calm through all of that. Although, my throat is sore and my eyes are watery from the tears threatening to fall. God, what is wrong with me?