Unconscious Hearts

by Harper Sloan

  I keep my eyes closed, my tears starting to fall through my closed lids. Her words slam deep into my soul, ripping me apart. Oddly, with each rip, it feels like something else is following to mend it back.

  Word by word.

  Stitch by stitch.

  "I was there," she continues. "I was there through it all, so I know. I was at your side while you were living your dreams, and I was so unbelievably happy for you. But I was also by your side when those dreams turned into nightmares. So, I know, Ari. You didn't ask for everything that happened and the changes they put into motion for your life. You experienced something that truly was heartbreaking--that isn't up for debate--but because I've been at your side, I can say you've been using that heartbreak as a crutch. Preventing you from moving forward and finding new dreams. You deserve to find those new dreams. Never did you deserve all that happened. Never. You also never deserved to stop living because of it."

  I hiccup a sob, feeling as if that had all happened the day before and not seven years earlier.

  "If anyone's at fault in this room, it's me, Ari. I'm to blame for letting you go this long without helping you find a way back to those dreams when I could see so clearly that you were keeping yourself from finding your way back there. I'm to blame for not saying something when you stopped going to your therapist. And because I love you, I'm willing to do whatever I can to make sure I don't add to what faults I hold."

  At that, my eyes open. "Pipe."

  She holds her hand up. "No. Enough. You want to take a few days and grieve the loss of your parents, do it. I can't imagine what it feels like to lose parents, but I think it's completely normal to continue to feel the freshness of losing them every year after. The anniversary of losing them will never be a day without pain for you, and I know that. There is never going to be a moment when taking more time to miss them isn't acceptable. But you do not get to carry on doing that for days and months and years anymore, using it as a reason to keep yourself from living. Ari, you got through the actual anniversary of losing them, and it didn't break you--not like it used to. That was days ago. Why don't you take a second and ask yourself if you really forgot, as you claim, or if you took that day on and remembered them without sinking to where you are right this moment. Do I really need to point out what--or should I say who--walked through the door that same day? You used to believe in signs, and girl, that's got to count for something. Your parents loved you so fiercely; they would be heartbroken to see you like this."

  In the distance, my phone rings again, and Piper stops talking to frown in the direction of its ringing.

  I keep my silence. Her words penetrating. But she doesn't.

  "I'm not saying Thorn is the man you'll spend the rest of your life with, Ari, but I am pointing out that he's the first one who's come into your life and made you remember--even if that wasn't conscious on your part--how to start living past what's held you back, and that, my friend, counts for a whole hell of a lot. You want to take some time and ignore life, get your head with the program, and stop believing what London's spewed at you to be true, that's cool. Just because she can't handle her own guilt over what happened and continues to live in the past, that's on her, not you. Maybe, just maybe, in that time, you'll remember all the little signs you felt over the years that made you believe your parents were watching over you. Then think about, again, what day Thorn popped up in your life."

  I sniff, my chin wobbling, and wipe the tears from my face.

  "Now, I'm going to silence your phone and head home. I love you, and I hate seeing you upset. If you don't want to talk to me, that's okay, but you need to talk to someone. It's time to come back to life, Ari."

  She gives me a hug after she stands, and I'm left staring off into the space where she had been when she walks out of the room.

  The ringing stops.

  My thoughts do not.

  I let everything drain out of my tired mind, making room to replay what Piper just said one thing at a time.

  She's right. I did spend the anniversary of their deaths remembering them fondly. I was sad, but instead of spending the day unable to stop the tears, I had cried in the shower. By the time I stepped out, the tears had stopped, and only the happy memories remained. I had only a small fraction of sadness left. I cut a few roses out of my garden before I left for work, the same kind of roses my father had painstakingly grown in his own backyard, and put them in a beautiful vase that had belonged to my mother. They were still sitting on my desk at Trend. I wore my mother's pearls that day, feeling their weight like a hug straight from her. I spent the day wrapped in their memories--happy memories--and even though I did it with a sad fondness, the pain had eased.

  She's also correct that my parents would want me to be happy. They wouldn't want me to live my life in limbo because of my fear to let someone close, only to lose them. And it's time. Time for me to find a way to let go of the guilt I feel over their deaths.

  My thoughts shift, and I picture, clear as day, my parents meeting Thorn and what they would have thought of him. Just as quickly as the vision comes, I push it aside. My thoughts drifting to London.

  My twin sister.

  I gave her everything. My heart, my loyalty, and my trust. Even when she started hating me, I still held onto hope that one day we would find our way back to the relationship we had before college.

  I also gave her the power. The power to put all the blame on me when ... "God," I gasp, Piper's words echoing in my mind. Just because she can't handle her own guilt over what happened and continues to live in the past, that's on her, not you.

  All these years, I let her convince me that I was solely to blame. Not once did I see things differently because she worked so hard to never let me forget. To never let me have a break from the subtle reminders long enough to see the loss of our parents any other way.

  My past was tragic.

  It was gut-wrenching.

  But Piper's right ... it also wasn't completely my fault.

  Dwight meows deeply, jumping on the couch and eyeing me. Giving me a hiss, he swats me with his paw, his claw connecting with a small prick of pain. He doesn't stick around to clue me in on what pissed him off, jumping away as quickly as he came, in favor of the sun spot on the floor. Then he looks over, lifts his leg, and starts cleaning himself.

  My thoughts shift back to Thorn, my grumpy cat reminding me of him with those eyes that seem to say everything without saying anything at all.

  Maybe Piper's right, and his timing in my life isn't a coincidence. But she could just be grasping at straws. One thing's for sure, I know that when you let someone get close, they have the power to bring you to your knees. Could I really, with that knowledge, take a chance on someone who has given me no indication that he wants more than what I already gave him?

  Remember what his touch did to you.

  Remember what he made you feel.

  Remember, he isn't your past.

  And isn't that just the scariest part of all? In a few short days, he was able to make me feel in a way that was so powerful and huge. I know that anything I had experienced before he rode into my life was just a cheap imitation.

  He made me dream again.

  He gave me that faraway look that my mom had when my dad was around and she was dreaming wide-awake. He looked at me with the same heat my dad looked at my mom with.

  Piper's words slam into me again. Maybe, just maybe, in that time, you'll remember all the little signs you felt over the years that made you believe your parents were watching over you. Then think about what day Thorn popped up in your life.

  Days, I've known him for days and felt the earth move ... days that started on the same weekend as their anniversary.

  I look up. "If you sent him to me, prove it," I whisper to the ceiling.

  They don't answer--of course, they don't--but that doesn't mean Piper's words don't continue to play back in my mind.

  I hate seeing you upset. It's time to come back to life, Ari.

>   Come back to life, Ari.

  Come back to life.

  She's different

  You have to be fucking kidding me.

  I toss my phone on my desk, knowing if I don't get it out of my hand now, it'll be sailing across the room.

  "What's your problem, T?" Wilder questions, walking into my office like he owns the place.

  I scowl, ignore him, and pull my email up on my laptop.

  "You've been in such a shit mood; I've had your employees complaining to me. What the fuck is going on with you?"

  Again, I ignore him, continuing to busy myself with my computer. Looking up the email address I need, I plug it in, skipping the subject line, and move my cursor to the body of the email.

  "I see they're not wrong or exaggerating about your bullshit mood. Let me guess, she wasn't worth the work after all?"

  That gets my attention. My head snaps up, and I glare at him. "Shut the fuck up."

  "Or maybe she was, and there's something else wrong with her."

  My fingers move over the keys, making short work of telling my private investigator the information I need. Namely, the address of one Ari Daniels. When I start detailing what I actually do know, I just start getting more pissed. This time, at myself.

  I have no doubt that, after our short time together, I know her better than a lot of people do--something she admitted herself when she not only told me how little experience she had, but also showed me when I sank my cock in her tight body. Unfortunately, knowing how someone feels coming apart, naked in your arms and around your cock, won't help you find them when they've been ignoring you for a goddamn week.

  A whole fucking week. Nothing but silence and, recently, a full voicemail. But did I stop trying? Not even close. I've called her so many times I feel like a chump for it.

  "What's the problem?" Wilder repeats, this time not sounding like the cocky bastard he was moments before.

  I send the email, lean back in my chair, and exhale loudly.

  "She did a runner on me." His eyes go wide, and I doubt he expected to hear that. "Woke up feeling lighter than I had in goddamn years--if fucking ever--and the only sign she had even been there was two tiny as fuck scraps of red lace."

  "You usually can't get them out quick enough, man. What's the problem with her leaving before you had a chance to push her out? Wouldn't that save you even more work?"

  "Because, unlike the women I normally wake up to, her presence was wanted."

  He drops back in his chair, a long whistle leaving his mouth.

  "I've called. I've texted her. Nothing. If she was done with me, the least she could do is tell me."

  "Yeah, well ... I guess the tides have finally turned, brother."

  "Shut the fuck up."

  His head tilts, and he studies me. "Shit. You're serious, you're that into her?"

  The tension in my neck has me bringing one hand up to try to rub some of it out. "Don't understand it myself, but that would be putting it mild as fuck."

  "You know where she works. If you want her that badly, make her tell you to your face that she's done. Then at least you can do your best to convince her otherwise."

  "Tried that. She hasn't been in all week. A few of the little girls who work there were too busy trying to remember how to talk, so I didn't get shit from them. The friend she was with the night I met her, now, she had plenty to say, namely that I was scaring the employees with my 'intense alpha male grumpiness,' and that Ari was 'taking some time to figure things out.' Whatever the fuck that means. I pressed her. Could tell she had more to say, was written all over that chick's face, but she just shook her head and told me not to give up. Pretty sure I left there more confused than when I walked in."

  "Told you more than you knew before then, riddles or not."

  "All of it just as confusing as the nothing I had before, though."

  "So go to her house. Didn't you pick her up the other night?"

  I shake my head, the tension just getting worse and the beginnings of a migraine creeping through my skull. "She met me at the restaurant. Didn't even think about picking her up. Fuck! Of course, she ran off on me. I take her to dinner, play her up until she's dying for my cock, and then I fuck her like it meant nothing but the challenge she accused me of making her. I might as well have slapped her on the ass when we finished and said thank you."

  "So," he draws the word out. "What you're saying is ... you're rusty?"

  I narrow my eyes. Not this shit again. "I am not fucking rusty."

  "Right. My bad, T." He laughs loud and long. The arrogant fuck. "You're right. You aren't rusty; you're just clueless."

  I bite back my knee-jerk reaction to tell him to fuck off. He's right. I'm clueless. I'm a grown man who's never had to even try. Hell, never wanted to try. Now I'm faced with a woman I want more of, and she won't give me the time of day.

  "I even left a message with her about picking up the shit she's buying, but I got some bullshit email from the store, not her, telling me that someone would be in touch about arranging pickup. The next day, a fucking courier dropped off a cashier's check for one point five million and a note that the rest would be deposited into the account of my convenience after the pickup and appraisal of that bullshit."

  "She just sent that kind of money? That's it? Jesus."

  "No, that's not fucking it. It was part of the contract I signed at dinner last weekend. Some kind of holding fee, I don't know. I know that only because I found it in my car the day after she left and read it front and back, trying to find some clue about locating her from it. I was too busy trying to get through dinner to actually read it. Read that shit again when, after I had dropped the original off with the protective little bulldog at her shop, it was attached to that goddamn check the courier dropped off."

  "Damn. I guess I was wrong when I thought you stripping for some chick was working hard for pussy. You'd do less work training and completing a cross country marathon."

  "Shut the fuck up!" I bellow. Wilder doesn't so much as flinch.

  "Look, I hate to point out the obvious, but did you consider that maybe it just wasn't that good for her, and she's letting you off the hook easy?"

  A humorless bark of laughter bubbles up and out.

  "What? It might be possible that you couldn't impress this one. No matter how skilled you think you are."

  "She was ... impressed," I fume through a tight jaw, not liking telling Wilder about my night with Ari--another thing different, since I've never kept details about who I sleep with from him before. Impressed, though? What a joke. It was so much more than that. The fucking earth shook for her just like it did for me; I know that to be true down to my bones. Only, knowing she felt that didn't mean shit when I woke up ready to convince her for more, and she had run scared because of it.

  "Yeah, running out on you while you're still sleeping screams impressed, Thorn. Happened to me plenty of times."

  I ignore the twinge in my chest over continuing to discuss what we shared with someone else. Sharing her. Sharing us.

  "She's different."

  "Yeah, got that."

  "No, Wil. She's different."

  The humor leaves his features, and he leans forward, elbows to knees, and I watch as the realization clicks. "Shit, Thorn."

  "Never, not fucking once in my life, have I felt this shit. Learned a long time ago, something you know, that women aren't worth the trouble of getting more than a decent fuck from. All the women I've known in the past only care about three things: money, using a man's money to buy shit, and using their cunts to get both. I met Ari, a woman who owns a store that caters to those types of women, and still, I was thirsty for her. Never been fucking thirsty for someone like that in my goddamn life. I knew damn well from experience what I was walking into. Didn't stop me, though. I knew all o' that, and I still carried on like I could fuck her, move on, and she would be out of my system." I run my fingers through my hair and relax against my chair.

  "You stop to think that
maybe you just want her more because she's the only one who has ever left without you pushing her out the door?"

  I grunt, shaking my head.

  "Seriously, T. You say she thought she was just a challenge before, and now, she's basically made herself one. Only, she's an even greater one now."

  "She might have started out as a challenge, but she stopped being that the second she pulled that contract out and told me how important it was that I understand she wasn't there to gain something from me unfairly. How important it was that I know she wanted to be there to explore how I made her feel and not because she could potentially gain a fucking lot for nothing. All she had to do was make it thirty-one seconds, and she'd have all that shit and not have to give me a cent. I'm good, damn good, but if she was playing games, she could have easily resisted and gained a fuck ton. So, tell me, Wil. Why even bother if she was planning to run out on me anyway? Why did it matter enough to her that she took the time to explain that shit and tell me how I made her fucking feel?" I pick up the glass paperweight and hurl it across the room. It lands against the wall, leaving a dent in the drywall before falling to the ground. "She could've even just fucked me, run, and made a fucking mint off me without all that trouble. I've seen what it looks like when a woman has my cock in her body and wants me to believe it's more than sex. I've watched them fake that shit, wanting to use it to get more, but I've never seen one actually mean it until her." I take a deep breath, pissed all over again that she got away from me ... and kept herself away for a week. "And I've never seen that same shit looking back at me in the mirror every day since."