by Haley Jenner
I don’t knock, walking in with preamble.
“Coffee?” he greets and I nod, sliding onto a stool.
Music plays in the background, not soft, but not excessively loud. Another person in the room, just not one screaming to be heard. But it’s Jake, and he’s never anywhere without it. Silence to him is music; it’s his quiet.
I consider what life would’ve been without him here. Without the constant friendship I’ve come to rely on him for. As much as I encouraged my support of him scribbling his signature on that record contract, I’m not gonna lie, I’m glad as fuck he didn’t. He seems one hundred percent content in his decision. Better than, almost relieved to continue on with the life he and Aubrey were, are building.
“Archer was saying he’s finished up with the loft?” He slides a mug across the counter and I grab onto it, wrapping my hands around the warmed ceramic.
I have bittersweet feelings about it all. Leaving the apartment takes me away from Jake and Aubrey, it gives me the opportunity to revert back into myself. It also takes me away from the ghosts of mine and Frankie’s once-upon-a-time.
This I don’t vocalize, a quick nod sufficing as I sip my coffee.
“Spoken to Frank?” Expectation drips along his words, the casual arch in his pierced eyebrow anything but.
“To say what? ‘Sorry I agreed to go along with Tammy’s schoolyard plan to make another dude jealous and you thought it was real?’”
Elbows to the counter, he leans over. “Tammy said she explained that part. I meant to check if she was okay?”
“Did you?” I bite out.
He laughs, the sound confined in his closed mouth. “Not the one in love with her, buddy.”
Standing to full height, he drains his cup, filling it with water to just leave it in the sink.
“She’s better than me, Jake. I don’t deserve her, she’s in a whole other league, one I could never reach. No matter how hard I tried.”
“True.” He nods, turning to rest his hips against the sink.
“Think you missed the friendship memo,” I scowl. “This is the part where you tell me I’m wrong. That I’m worthy of her.”
He laughs, the deep chuckle making his shoulders shake. “You don’t need me stroking your cock, St. Kelly. Truth is, you’re not.”
“Appreciate the vote of confidence.” My voice sounds as cynical as I feel, a little taken aback by Jake’s lack of support.
A smile drifts across his face, head shaking in dismissal. Pausing, he leans to his phone, increasing the volume on the music a notch, mumbling something about it being a great track.
“If you walked up to Archer right now,” he focuses back on me, “and asked him if he deserved someone as good as Annabelle, what would he say?”
My eyes drift away from his cell, the melody in the song having grabbed my interest, settling back on him. He stares back in challenge and I concede his point, nodding softly.
“Toby, Bennett, they’d all tell you they’re nowhere near worthy of Willow and Darci. I know I sure as shit can’t give Aubrey all that she gives me. No way in hell I deserve someone like her.”
I stand silently, walking around the counter to wash my cup, turning it down on the drying rack. I glance at his phone again, the lyric begs for convincing, it bleeds out words about being pushed into running but wanting the need of someone to stop you. It hits me head on. Is it coincidental, his song choice?
“Who sings this?” I ask without looking toward him.
“Gaga.”
That pulls my attention and my neck twists to look over at him, the question on my face. “Ga-who?”
A hand comes up to massage the bridge of his nose. “Your music knowledge offends me, greatly. Lady Gaga. Massive pop icon, her songs flood the stations.”
I nod. “Sings somethin’ ‘bout riding my disco stick?”
“I’d say not yours specifically, but yes, ‘Disco Stick’ is hers.”
“Would be if she’d met me,” I tease.
“I’ve never met anyone as self-assured as you. You know, it’s concerning.” His elbow hits my rib and I nudge him back, making him stumble to the side.
“Women are fucking phenomenal creatures, man,” Jake speaks softly, careful not to disturb the song. “We’re so weak in what we offer them in comparison. God, they give us everything. No way any of us can be good enough to deserve them. But that’s why it works… it’s the key to making it work.”
My brows furrow as I work through his words, trying to understand his point. “Talkin’ in riddles, man.”
He exhales heavily. “We know we’re not worthy, so we spend our lives loving them as best we can, with everything we have inside. They feel loved, doted on, appreciated; knowing we’d give everything for them. It makes them think in their hearts that we are actually worthy. That’s all they want, dude. For us to love them as hard as we can.”
“As long as they’re your number one, they know they’re your everything.”
“Bingo.” He claps, hand squeezing my shoulder. “My take anyway.”
“Please tell me this means you’re ready to claim your woman,” he beseeches. “I fucking love that part of the story.”
I shake my head. “This town and their public declarations of love. I couldn’t make it up if I tried.”
He laughs, the lips tattooed on his neck stretching as his neck tips backward to let the sound escape freely.
“Answer your question, not just yet, something I gotta take care of first.”
He moves out of the kitchen. “Avoidance has never done anyone any favors.”
I follow him out, moving toward the door. “Not avoidance, more a plague from my past that I haven’t been able to shake.”
Brow furrowed, he grabs his backpack, following me out onto the landing.
“Ex-wife,” I confess, and his steps falter.
“Come-a-fucking-gain.”
“Story for another time,” I laugh. “I’ll be gone three days, at most. I’ll fill you in then.”
Blue eyes widened into saucers, he nods blankly, returning my fist bump, meekly.
“Who are you even?
I smile. “A guy who’s finally found a way to breathe again. I found my oxygen.”
Chapter Twenty
Frankie
My lips press around the joint balanced between them, my lungs inhaling heavily as I relax further into the wood of the stage.
There was once a time where this is where I wanted to live. It was my oxygen. I survived in life with a microphone planted firmly in my hand.
Then I fell out of love. I still love it; singing, performing, the escape in music. I’m just no longer in love with it. Considering it felt like home for so long, it was surprising how okay I was with waving goodbye to a dream I once upon a time thought was everything.
Same with Brandon. He was my happy place. But, as much as I thought I loved him, I could breathe on my own, without him. In the end, leaving him was one of the easiest decisions I’ve made in life. Even after his betrayal, as painful as it was, I knew I’d survive. He might’ve been a large part of my whole, my world didn’t revolve around him.
Luca. I suck heavily on my joint again, numbing the ache his name jolts inside me, he’s different. Surviving without him doesn’t seem like a possibility. I’m gasping for air, drowning as I search for the breath he gives me.
I watch the smoke dance above me as I exhale. The soft gray cloud disappears as quickly as it appeared, so I do it again, letting myself get lost in the challenge of keeping it there.
Arms stretched wide, the worn wood beneath me feels like a pillow, pulling me into tranquility. It’s nice, the numbness. My arm, bending at the elbow, pulls the joint from my mouth and I let myself be consumed by the moment.
The soft bluesy beat of the song pulsates in my head. I sing along to the chorus, the desperation in Ed’s tone mirroring my own. He would’ve had his heart broken before. I’m certain of it. The lyrics in his music sit too close to my he
art. He’s been me. Lost. Wondering how to survive in life after you’ve had your heart stolen. Your broken love song playing on repeat, making certain you can’t forget a single second of the pain.
My joint kisses my lips as my lyric moves into a new verse. I listen intently, my head rolling in time with the beat.
Arizona. He went back to Arizona.
Back to his wife.
Jake didn’t say that part, but I knew. Knew the underlying meaning of his words.
I’ve had to delete his number from my phone. Temptation a too potent drug I’m ready to overdose on. I want to tell him no, he deserves more than she’s ever offered him. His heart more precious than she values it.
“Are you real?” I turn my head, bringing his face into view.
His smell was the first thing to hit me moments ago. That soft masculine scent tickling my nostrils in familiarity. His shadow followed soon after, casting a dark hue across my body.
Lying down beside me, he takes the joint from my hand, placing it between his own lips to inhale. “Yeah,” he coughs. “Real as you are ripped.”
My giggle dances between us. “Very real.”
“Mmmm.” He stubs the joint out and I frown. “What’s news?”
I keep my cheek pressed against the cold wood, and he moves in the same way, our noses an inch apart.
“I use to sniff your pillow,” I confess. “When I hadn’t met you, when you were still away. It helped me sleep at night.”
His soft lips tip up in a smile. “I smell your pillow every night.”
I nod in understanding, his words easing the ache in my soul, if only slightly. He misses me. Like I do him, with pain and longing significant enough that you search for any reminder that’ll bring that person back to you.
I let my gaze drift over his face in lazy appreciation. “You look tired.” I want to reach out and touch him, run my hand down his cheek to ease the weary lines of his face. But my body feels weighted down, and I can’t quite recall the ability to move.
Inhaling thickly through his nose, he turns his head, eyes now focused on the ceiling. I miss them, his eyes, but I can’t find the words to tell him this, my tongue heavy in my mouth.
“I am, fucking shattered. It’s been an exhausting few days.”
“In Arizona,” I murmur, more to myself.
Looking back at me, he stays silent for a beat. There’s so much promise in the deep blue pools staring over at me, hope, clarity. “Tell you about it tomorrow, when you’re not fucked up.”
Sitting up, I nod dismissively. “Not my business.”
My head spins and hands securing themselves to the edge of the stage, I close my eyes in an attempt to locate my center of gravity.
“What’s going on, Crazy Girl? This isn’t like you.” He gestures to the bottle of whiskey I pick up, now tipping up to run down my throat.
Dragging my hand along my mouth, I sigh. “I called Marnie,” I admit reluctantly.
He waits quietly, watching me expectantly.
“Brandon’s wife,” I clarify.
I’m so tired, physically and mentally. I could sleep right now, close my eyes and drift off into nothing but sweet dreams of the boy sitting beside me. The boy who unintentionally crushed my heart in his palms without even realizing.
But the trauma of the day is weighing me down, forcing my insides to shake in restlessness. I miss talking with Luc, sharing my life with him. Without conscious thought, he became my person, the friend I turned to when life sucked.
“Why?” he asks, the tone of his voice both curious and shaken.
My neck twists, bringing our gazes together, and I let him see me, every broken part of me. “Because of you,” I confess. “I thought so much about your marriage, and how if someone had told you every time Jen had cheated, maybe you wouldn’t have married her.”
It’s surprising how an already fractured heart can splinter further. How the pain you’ll think you’ll suffocate with can intensify to the point that robs you of breath.
I feel the single tear run down my face, and as much as I despise my heartache for escaping my body, I understand. I wouldn’t want to live in the hollow insides of me anymore.
“Frankie.” His hand comes up, thumb catching the droplet coursing down my cheek. I watch as he sucks it from his thumb, swallowing my heartbreak as if it were his own.
“If someone had been strong enough to come to you, she wouldn’t have hurt you so fucking bad.”
I don’t communicate the rest, that if he hadn’t married her, he’d be single, not bitter, and the love I feel for him wouldn’t be such a curse.
I shift closer, more out of necessity than anything else, leaning my head on his shoulder to hold me up.
“She knew, Luc. She fucking knew.”
His large arm wraps around me, moving up and down my arm in a gentle caress, soothing the monsters in my mind.
“She didn’t know he’d proposed, that threw her slightly, but she knew about me, my name, how long we’d been seeing one another. Everything.”
He takes the bottle of whiskey from my hand, frowning in disapproval as I try to swallow more of it down.
“I don’t understand.” His frown remains in place.
“I wasn’t the first,” I sigh. “He’d cheated before, she’s learned to accept it. For the sake of her kids.”
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, the warm puff of his words felt along my skin.
“Mmmm,” I agree, cuddling into him more. “I get her point, she has a boy verging on teenage years, they need their dad, she doesn’t want them to resent her or him.”
The song on the speaker changes and he leans over to grab my phone, switching it off. Silence falls over us like a cloud.
“He got his side piece, but always goes home to her. Some people are content with that, Frank.”
I close my eyes, letting the warmth of his body engulf me, the silence dance around me like a lullaby. “It’s depressing,” I mumble, my words verging on incoherent.
His voice rumbles along my body, talking about settling for mediocre when there’s always something extraordinary around the corner. He laughs about serendipity, about waiting for fate to intervene, but my sleep clogged brain barely recognizes the need to laugh.
He notices, calling my name but I’m too gone to answer. He sounds a million miles away, but still wrapped up in him, I let myself get lost in his dream.
I rise up, my body floating on a muscled cloud and I let myself enjoy the serenity. My eyes flutter open on protest when he tucks me into his bed, but he shushes me, and I listen. Because I can smell him again, his scent wrapping around me like a warm blanket.
Luca St. Kelly might very well be the reason for my broken heart, but he’s also the safest place I’ve ever known.
Chapter Twenty-One
Luca
She bailed. God knows at what time in the middle of the night. But I slept like the dead and she took advantage of that. I should've known. She was so broken down last night. I've never seen her like that; drowning in her own misery. I've seen her blue, don't get me wrong, but last night was something else. She'd fallen into the depths of self-pity, diving in without regard for the aftermath. That overwhelming fear that nothing will ever feel any better than it does right in that darkest moment. That you’re destined to live where you've fallen.
I can't help but hate myself that little bit more for putting her there. I know it was me, I saw it in her sad eyes; brimming with tears. The question, the self-doubt, the why. Why didn't I love her back? Fuck did I wanna tell her that I did.
The last three days have been brutal, and last night sent it sailing into another fucking level below hell. I thought it was looking up. Walking into the bar last night, focus on sleep, my heart about jumped out of my chest when I saw her. Everything was finally falling into place, the suffering of the last few days now all worth it. Because the one thing I'd been wanting, my sweet, crazy girl was there, right in front of my eyes. All fucking mine.
>
Then I really saw her; joint in hand, whiskey bottle at the ready and I was flooded with regret, with indecision. I couldn't tell her about Jen, not when she was suffocating in an exaggerated grief. Inhaling her melancholy like it was her oxygen. Truth is, she wouldn't have heard what I was trying to say, no matter how loud I spoke the words. So I gave her what I could in that moment, the friendship I promised her. I was there, soaking up her heartache, trying in vain to take on her burden that never should've been hers in the first place.
Sleeping beside her was another form of hell. I fought the first few hours of unconsciousness, watching her in sleep. The flutters of her eyelashes. The twitch of her lips. The soft subtle sound of her breathing, a lullaby that eventually took me.
I wanted so badly to wake up beside her, tell her everything.
That I'm a few hundred grand lighter, but with that, down one wife as well. I was holding onto my resentment for no reason other than the uncertainty of what else I was supposed to feel. The answer was nothing. Jen was no one to me anymore, as was the money. Removing her from my life was more freeing than I ever could've imagined. I, Luca St. Kelly was free of the weights that had kept me marinating in my hate. I was ready to claim my girl, the one person that had fired something good inside me from the moment I laid eyes on her. Francesca Walker brought me back to life, and fuck if I'm not ready to live.
Throwing my legs off the bed, the floor cold under my feet. I haven't even had a second to appreciate the finished product of Archer's work. My new home. It's better than I imagined. Dark, muted colors. Sealed concrete floors, Brooklyn-style brick crawling up the walls into an exposed beamed ceiling. Natural light pours over my bed from the back wall-to-wall windows. The bathroom sits behind a half-wall, an open shower with two rain showerheads coursing over my skin in a steaming hot massage of water. Locating my clothes, still currently stuffed in a suitcase, I dress, considering I need to find furniture to fit the space. My bed aside, the open space is deserted. I don't even have a fucking TV.
