Rosie’s mouth opened and closed, like a fish desperate for oxygen inside a dirty fish bowl.
“Sign the divorce papers, hon. No one likes a desperate, clingy woman.” Sage reached past Tig, who stood stupefied in wonder, grabbed the front door, and gently closed it in Rosie’s face. She locked it, then turned to Tig, extending her hand. “My sweater?”
Tig blinked a few times and allowed a wild grin to pull at his face. He’d never been so turned on in his life. Blood rushed south, his dick responding with fervor, pressing against his jeans relentlessly. He reached for her, this fiery, fucking sexy woman—
“No.”
No?
“This”—she waved her hand between the two of them—“isn’t going to happen.”
His heart fell into his gut, his smile fading fast as his heated blood instantly ran cold. “What?” He’d obviously misunderstood. “You have to leave?”
Sage sighed, then opened her hand to him again. “My sweater.”
He reached out, and she grabbed the sweater from his extended hand. Confusion and disappointment merged with the sinking feeling in his stomach. She’d meant now, right? This wasn’t going to happen right now.
Sage stripped off his shirt, exposing her naked body once more. Tig sucked in a breath, thrilled to see her displayed before him so openly, so unafraid. Statues should be erected of this woman; her perfectly feminine form was what myths and legends were made of. The bodies of Goddesses couldn’t possibly compare.
She’d pulled her sweater over her head while he’d been mentally waxing poetic about her shape, and when his gaze met hers…those eyes could have cut through ice.
Fuck.
“Here’s how this is going to happen, Brandon. I’m going to go get dressed, and then I’m going to leave. We will chalk this up to a fantastic one night stand—a reunion that had been a long time coming, but won’t happen again.”
He reached for her, hesitantly. “Don’t do this, Sage. Don’t pull away from me—”
She wavered only briefly. “We were never meant to be, Brand. We come from two different worlds. At the end of this school year, I’m moving Jimmy and me somewhere else. I’d do it immediately, but you know him—he’ll need time to adjust to the idea.”
“No. I won’t let this happen.” Tig grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to him. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her close, but she remained rigid in his grasp. “Sage, don’t do this. Please. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’m sorry about Rosie—” Sage pressed against him, finally reacting to his touch, and he held her closer. “I won’t let you go.”
“This isn’t about Rosie, Brandon. This is about me. You were never meant to be mine. I see that now. Let me go.”
“No.” He nuzzled her hair, inhaling the summer-crisp smell of her, breathing her in like he’d die without her scent in his lungs.
He thought maybe he would.
Sage began trembling in his arms. Tig froze, his heart thumping in his chest, then he pulled her away from him, just enough so he could look down into those eyes he couldn’t live without. He searched her gaze, followed each tear that fell from her eyes, panic filling his chest.
She closed her eyes, freeing an onslaught of tears. “Please.”
The whispered word punched him in the gut, shattering the pieces of his heart that seeing her again had finally healed. One tiny word said with so much pain that Tig worried he’d drop to his knees if he let go of her.
“Please don’t make this harder on me, Brand.”
He released her when she tried again to pull away—not because he wanted to, but because his fingers were suddenly numb—and as she turned her back on him, his heart felt drawn into a vortex, like a wound had opened up in his chest and sucked every relevant piece of him away. He tried to breathe, but only strangled gasps filled his lungs.
She didn’t want him.
After years and years of thinking only of her, the one that got away, he’d finally seen her again, finally felt her skin beneath his hands, her body wrapped around his, finally thought he’d be able to breathe again….
And she didn’t fucking want him.
He fell to his knees, hitting the shag carpeting with a thud.
She’d only wanted to have a final fling with him. To reunite one last time. A one-night stand.
He barely registered when she passed him, opened the door, then walked out of his life.
Again.
Nearly two full hours she sat in her car, hiding in the parking garage of her apartment complex, too destroyed to move, too destroyed to see Jimmy.
Or to let him see her like this. Not like this.
Two hours of the worst pain of her life.
Worse than the crushing blows dealt by foster father number one. Worse than the sexual abuse at the hands of number two. Physical pain she’d survived, overcome. But this….
The sobs came like rolling waves pounding the shore, one after another, beating her relentlessly until she had nothing left to give, no more tears to cry.
She’d never recovered from losing Brand the first time, and now she had to do it all over again. Except this time was so much worse.
The pain in her chest was magnified, sharp, a gaping, empty void, yet the agony was so centered there, so intense, that she could barely breathe. How could she feel both hollow and so full of pain at the same time?
She couldn’t believe he’d chosen Rosie over her again, couldn’t believe she’d expected anything less. Sure, he’d eventually made Rosie leave, but he’d waited just long enough for the woman’s words to cut Sage down. He’d waited just long enough. Hesitated just long enough.
It was that hesitation, that split moment of confusion that formed Sage’s opinion of him. His indecision forced her hand, made her leave.
But the look in his eyes when Sage left him…oh, God. Sage gripped at her chest as a mangled cry escaped her lips. The image of the man she loved brought to his knees in her wake would haunt her for the rest of her life.
She’d never gotten over him the first time around, but she’d tried.
Trying would be futile now.
There would always be a gaping hole where Brandon Tiggs tattooed his name across her heart, and no one—no one—would even come close to filling that void.
No matter how much time passed, the pain was no less real, no less debilitating. Tig wondered how he managed to get through each day without her, but every day he woke up, repeated the motions, strolling through life a dead, empty shell of who he once was…or, more honestly, who he thought he could be with Sage back in his life.
Days ago, she’d destroyed him again.
Had she come here to do just that? Had she planned to bed him, then leave him like he’d left her all those years ago? Had this been some sort of ploy? Revenge? These were the questions that travelled through his head like an endless broken record. He pushed them aside, knowing that his pain spoke the words, his broken heart desperately searching for a reason, logic behind the earth-shattering loss of her, some way to justify her leaving.
Sage wasn’t a malicious person, wasn’t someone with a vendetta. It was something he’d loved about her from the very beginning—no matter what life threw at her, she never became spiteful, never lashed out. Unfortunately, this also caused her to internalize, triggered the self-abuse as young Sage searched for a physical outlet to all she’d suppressed over the years.
Tig stared out over the chaotic water of the pool—at swim practice, yet not there at all—distantly registering the kid trying to get his attention. Unable to break free of Sage’s image in his mind, he let himself be pulled to the memories. Some days, he wished he could just drown there in their past. Her gray eyes, like wind and rain over a frenzied sea—the perfect storm. He recalled the sound of her voice in the morning, raspy and inviting, promising to undo him with just a whisper. The way her breasts filled his hands, her hips curved out from her body, the way he fit so perfectly inside her, like they’d been made to come
together.
He’d tried to talk to her repeatedly after that Saturday morning at his apartment, but she remained cool, detached, distant—when she wasn’t avoiding him completely.
Sage wanted nothing to do with him, and he couldn’t even function without her.
Every day hurt worse than the last, every moment excruciating. The only reason he left his bedroom each day was the team. He wouldn’t let his kids down.
“Coach?
He loved her enough to respect her wishes, even if every second away from her destroyed him further, so he tried to make do with the rare passing glance, the quick glimpse of her on her way to her car after school. Maybe that made him a creeper. He didn’t care.
“Coach Tiggs, you okay?”
Tig focused his eyes, blinking a few times, finally acknowledging the kid in front of him.
“Coach?”
“Yeah, sorry. What’s up, Artie?”
The kid had transformed in the short time he’d been swimming for the team. Almost overnight. Brown hair cropped short, just slightly longer on top, glasses gone, replaced with contacts, body reacting well to the rigorous training Tig made the kids do…the high schooler standing before him now actually almost resembled someone Tig would have hung out with back when he’d been in school. He looked nothing like the hunched-over, bespectacled Artemis Langford Tig had seen that first day Artie walked into his office.
That was the day Sage came back, too.
He shook his head, dismissing the memory, briefly wondering how long ago it had been. Two weeks? Three?
“Just wanted to see if you’re doing all right, sir. The guys and I, well, we’ve been talking.”
Tig raised his eyebrow. “Talking?”
“Yeah, and, well …you seem like…it seems like this divorce is really taking a toll on you and we wondered if maybe there was something we could do?”
It’s not the divorce, kid. Tig smiled a half smile, which tended to be more of a grimace these days, but was the best he could do with the unrelenting pain in his chest. He placed his hand on Artie’s shoulder, noticing for the first time the two were the same height. Tig cocked his head. “Artie, how old are you?”
Artie stood taller. “Eighteen, sir.”
“Oh.” Tig couldn’t remember ever finding out anything about Artie past that first day he’d shown up in his office.
The same day Sage walked back into his life. Everything since then was a blur.
“Call me Tig, Artie. I’m not that old.”
Artie grinned, the look on his face telling Tig that old was relative. “Well, sir, I mean Tig, some of the guys and I will be at the bowling alley tonight, if you’d like to come along. Maybe you’ll feel better.”
“On a school night?”
“It’s Friday, sir.”
Tig’s eyebrows drew down over his eyes. Friday? Damn, what day is it? He flipped through a calendar in his mind, trying to figure out what—
“It’s February seventh, sir”—Artie coughed—“Tig.”
Tig’s eyes widened, more surprised at how much time had passed, then how the kid knew what he’d been trying to figure out.
Way more than a few weeks had passed. If Artie was correct, then that meant…. “A month?”
“I’m sorry, sir?”
A whole month had passed since she’d made love to him, then left him. Tig shook his head. A whole month since their one-night stand. “You’ve been here a month?”
Artie shook his head slowly, the questioning look in his eyes signaling Tig may seem a bit crazed. “Just over a month, sir.”
Tig frowned. Maybe he did need a night out. “Bowling, huh?”
“Yep.”
“With the team?”
Artie sighed. “Yes, sir. A bunch of the guys from the team are going bowling tonight. We’ll be there at eight.”
“Sounds good, kid. See ya then.”
Artie shook his head as he walked away, possibly confused, possibly annoyed that his coach continued to call him kid.
Practice was over for the day, and Tig couldn’t remember a single thing from the past hour and a half.
“It’s not healthy to sit home on a Friday night, Sage.”
Ellie Hall had tried relentlessly to get Sage out of the house, but ever since her run-in with Rosie Sanchez a month ago—Rosie Tiggs, her ruthless brain reminded—and her subsequent second break-up with Brand, Sage barely found the strength to go to work each day.
At least he’d finally given up trying to win her back. Brand had almost convinced her, almost pleaded enough for Sage to forgo all common sense and let herself love him. But each time she came close, each time she nearly fell into his arms, Rosie walked back into her mind, the woman’s words carving like knives across her heart.
“…are you still a psycho cutter, or do you limit your self-abuse to fucking married men?”
“Sage, honey?”
Sage pulled her gaze from the television, then focused on Mrs. Hall. “Hmm?”
The woman sighed, then walked to her and sat down beside her on the brown microfiber couch. She patted Sage’s leg, then gave her a nudge. “You know, Jimmy and I are going bowling tonight. Maybe you should join us?”
Sage smiled weakly, but shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’m already in my pajamas.”
Mrs. Hall grinned. “I know, sweetie. And that’s precisely what I’m talking about. Not even four o’clock in the afternoon, and you’re already in your nightclothes.”
Sage glanced at the clock. Oh.
Mrs. Hall patted her leg again. “You haven’t left the house outside of going to work in almost a month. Go on, honey. Take a shower—you could use one”—Sage furrowed her eyebrows—“then get ready to go bowling. I’ll even take you both to dinner first, my treat.”
“I really appreciate what you’re trying—”
“Do it for your brother, Sage.”
Sage had grumbled something about guilt trips and bribery, but reluctantly, she’d gotten her ass off the couch, showered—no idea when she’d done that last, gross—and dressed for a night out with her favorite guy. And his favorite nosy school administrator.
Like it or not, Sage Shepard was bowling tonight.
The air still hung heavy with the years of smoking that had taken place within these walls, and Sage wondered why the old bowling alley even bothered making it smoke-free if they weren’t going to scrape the inch-thick yellow funk off the walls or replace the carpeting. She’d have second-hand emphysema by the time she left tonight.
The smell also, remarkably, triggered her old addiction, and since she pretty much hated life right now, she considered finding a cigarette to bum.
“Sagey! Your turn!”
And that was the end of that momentary relapse.
Sage bowled a decent couple of games, but as usual, Jimmy beat her every time. She’d bowled better than Mrs. Hall, and though she felt foolish doing so, she considered that a victory. Payback for dragging her out of the house.
“Ready to go again?”
“Oh, no, Jimmy, I’m sorry. This old lady is tired.” Mrs. Hall stood, and Jimmy followed, helping her pull her jacket on.
He threw an arm around the small woman’s shoulders. “Okay, Ellie, let’s get you home.”
Sage smiled at the tenderness with which Jimmy handled his dearest friend. For someone who’d been cared for most of his life, he had no problem passing that devotion along, and Sage’s chest warmed with pride.
“Comin’, sis?”
Sage scanned the busy bowling alley. Though earlier, she’d found the thought of leaving her house unbearable, now she felt the suffocating claustrophobia of returning to her empty bed.
She didn’t want to be lonely tonight.
“You know what, big brother? I think I’m going to stay here for a little while.”
Jimmy’s eyes widened; a frown pulled at his mouth. “Bowl without me?”
Sage smiled and stood, taking Jimmy’s face in her hands. “Never. I�
�m going to hit the bar.”
“Don’t hurt your hand!” Jimmy’s bellowing laughter attracted the gazes of a few bowlers nearby, and Sage eyed them warily, tensing as she waited for them to go back to their games. She’d seen Jimmy teased far too often in her lifetime, and just as much as she feared succumbing to her loneliness tonight, she also bordered on piss and vinegar, so they were lucky they turned back around without any sneers or derogatory comments.
“Thanks for the warning, Jimbo.” She hugged him goodbye, then gave Mrs. Hall her keys. “I’ll call a cab, okay? Make sure he locks the door when you leave, please.”
“I’m not a baby, Sagey, sheesh.”
Sage smiled. “I know you aren’t. But you’re all I have, buddy.”
Three beers down, two shots to go. Or was that two shots down, three beers to go?
Sage didn’t know, nor could she find it within herself to care.
She tingled with warmth and her thoughts blurred from the familiar fuzz of alcohol, her mind finally as empty as the gaping hole in her chest.
She lined up the bottles—one, two, three—then waved the bartender over, signaling to the three empty shot glasses beside the beer bottles, and the discarded lime wedges.
“Did I drink these?”
The old man’s eyes narrowed briefly, then he cocked a half smile. “You sure did. Like a champ.”
Sage’s eyebrows furrowed. “Like a champh, huh? Champh. Champh. Champ.” She shook her head in frustration. “Were they good?”
He laughed. “I’m assuming so.”
“One more, pleasssth.” She repeated the word in her head. Please. Sounded fine to her.
“How ‘bout another beer instead? Maybe an ice water?”
Sage shook her head adamantly, wobbling in her seat from the movement. She was on a mission tonight, and Old Man River, here, wasn’t going to keep her from her goal of total oblivion.
She reached for the nuts—what the? Her hands scraped the empty bowl. “You’re out of nuthsth.” She frowned, smearing her finger across the inside of the bowl to collect as much salt as she could, then brought her fingertip to her tongue—
Chlorine and Chaos Page 8
