Fire Heart (Broken Bottle Series Book 2)

by Taeuffer, Pamela

  "I guess. Selfishly, I'm glad you didn't because we can get to know each other again, but for your sake . . ."

  "I know. I felt the mistake I made when I spoke with Walter today. Seeing all those students gave me a rush."

  "Walter?"

  "I'll tell you about him later. He was Ryan's high school coach."

  “Don't take the same conservative route with boys—or any relationship for that matter. You tend to overanalyze everything so . . . just grab one. Nothing against you, but a sweet, handsome, and smart professional baseball player says you’re the one? And the sex! Holy shit, the sex! He’ll keep you smiling all day and night from the things he’s learned over the years. Fuck, maybe you’ll come in your dreams! Wet dreams for Nicky!"

  "Ha! Maybe so!" I considered how it might be lying next to him, having orgasms in my sleep.

  "I just hope he’s not just a stupid jock who tapped as much ass as he could just to brag about it. Still, it’d be worth it for the sex if you dump him later. Somehow I think . . .” she hesitated.

  “What?” I grabbed her wrist.

  “I have a feeling you might be swept away with him. He introduced himself to your family and you both have twinkles in your eyes,” Jenise nodded to the mirror and as if I'd see them. I turned to look. "You don't give in easily, and to have these feelings so soon . . . I think he might be the one for you."

  “That’s my fear.” I had to change the subject before I completely lost my breath. “Tell me about Sean.”

  We walked back to her bed and plopped on it, bouncing and smiling. I enjoyed as I watched her body become the one to swell up, her eyes open wide, and her hands wave in the air.

  “I love him!” she exclaimed.

  Her face softened and her voice sped up, becoming higher and louder. We talked for hours about their love, their sex and how tough it was to be apart from each other.

  “Well, I have to hit the hay. I'm getting up early to go to Yountville. Want to go with me?”

  “Sorry, I’ve got a project to finish,” she said. "Ask me again though, okay?"

  “Okay. Thanks for talking with me. I love you."

  "Thanks for finally knocking on my door" she said appreciatively. "Love you, too."

  We kissed each other good night, and after I tucked myself into bed, I knew she’d be one of the great loves of my life.

  Chapter 9

  Be Careful When Texting

  I took out my journal to write down the conversation I’d just had with my sister. It was almost 1:00 a.m. when my phone lit up with a text from Ryan.

  He wrote: Thinking of u. Sweet dreams my baby. I love you.

  I responded: Thinking of u 2. Ok 2 luv the 1 ur with.

  Sarcasm—I couldn’t believe he’d really commit to me, so I protected myself with it. My habit of pushing people away with a joke was how I kept my distance and prevented the hurt from touching me. It was the way our family handled serious emotions. Each of us polished our armor regularly, keeping our exterior strong. In making sure Ryan was at arm's length, I wouldn't get hurt when he abandoned me.

  My phone rang shortly after I answered his text. He didn’t wait for me to say hello. The flippant comment I’d texted to him came back to me very loud and very clear—as anger.

  “Stop it, Nicky.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not going to play games with you.”

  "I'm not—"

  “You’ve just called me a liar and a cheat without coming right out and saying it."

  "No, I—"

  "Yes, you most certainly did. Your insecurities don’t give you the right to lash out at me."

  "I didn't mean—"

  "You didn't mean what?"

  Silence.

  "You texted exactly what you wanted me to feel—that I'm not taking my promise to you seriously and I couldn't possibly love you completely. You want to keep pushing me away? You're waiting for news to come back to you that I'm with another woman?"

  Silence.

  I didn't know how to respond.

  I wanted to get closer, but I knew just when I'd open my heart to him, it would be the moment he said goodbye.

  "I understand you're covering up your feelings. When I get back, I’ll listen to your doubts and their reasons, but not from a sarcastic text. I’m not seeing anyone. I’m not sleeping with anyone, and I’m not partying with anyone. I’m. Not. With. Anyone. I’m asking you to take me at face value. I wouldn’t lie to you. Have I misrepresented anything so far?”

  “No.”

  Not yet.

  “Why can’t you trust me?” His voice was low and hard. “You told me you did when we kissed in your bed the other night. That was bullshit? You only say sweet things when I make you weak?”

  “No, that’s not it." My voice cracked. I don't believe you really want anything but sex. "I know I’m sarcastic, and I . . . I’m sorry, but I don’t believe it when you say you’re not having sex."

  "Why not? Why can't you trust me?"

  Isn't it obvious?

  "I don’t understand how someone like you can turn off that part of who you've always been. When I heard you and Kevin talking, you said you’ve had sex every day since college and now—nothing? It doesn’t make sense. I haven't committed to you and we're not having sex so how would you—"

  “You think I’m out of control?” he snarled. “Some Neanderthal with a caveman brain? After everything you found out today, that’s what you think of me?”

  “No.” I don’t know, maybe.

  “When I say I’m serious about a relationship with you, I am. I understand you have problems with my past, but that’s what it is—my past. If you want to talk about it when I get back, I’m happy to. But don’t throw jabs at me—especially with a text—when I’m away and can’t respond.”

  “I’m sorry.” I pulled my knees up to my chest. “I don't know why I have such a hard time opening up to new people. I don’t know how to handle this . . . or you.”

  “You don't have to handle me. I can handle myself. Listen, Nicky. I could have sex as easy as getting a cup of coffee. All I need to do is to walk into the lobby and pick a woman from the dozen or so that hang around. I told you I’ll wait for you, and I will.”

  “Yeah. I know, that’s why—”

  “I’m trying to say,” he interrupted, “if you think I only want you because I have some kind of sex fantasy, I could’ve been with a woman your age dozens of times. Women aren't bashful. They walk right up to me and make damn sure I understand what they want.”

  Oh, yuck, I know. I don't want to hear any more of this.

  “Please don't talk about it. I can't stand to hear how many women are waiting for you and there's nothing I can do about it."

  "Why not?" He knew exactly what he was doing by asking the question. If I didn't want him to be mine, I wouldn't care who he was seeing. "Didn't you just open this door?"

  "Because, I'm not ready like they are . . . and you are. I know I'm outmatched in every way. I don't need to be reminded you're sacrificing a part of your life for me."

  "I’m yours, Nicky, only yours. I won’t cheat on you and I don't consider waiting for you a sacrifice. Didn’t Walter share enough to let you know I’m more than just a sexed up jock?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Didn’t you see who I am from all of our visits to Yountville?”

  “Yes.”

  “An elaborate joke—wasn’t that your fear? You thought I was using you and making you a part of some scheme I’d planned, right? And yet, you just treated me the same way. Your text told me I’m only a joke of a man. Your words were very clear that you think so little of my character you'd believe I’d string along an innocent woman and promise her love, while playing with her family. Don’t you see the double standard? Do you really think I’d go out of my way to be so cruel?”

  “No, I don't believe that. My response, well, it was a knee-jerk reaction. I didn’t think my text through. I'm sorry, Ryan."

 
; “Fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Good night.”

  After he hung up, I was devastated over what I’d done. He took my sarcasm as an attack on his character and that the good things I'd heard all day from other people meant nothing—and why wouldn’t he? He had a right to be angry. I'd just told him I didn't trust him. Worse, he read into my message that I had no faith in us.

  I detached through sarcasm.

  It was my defense mechanism.

  I joked away affection and serious emotions whenever possible.

  I could reduce a compliment—or a sweet text from a boy who was only checking in with me—to a meaningless nothing.

  When I turned off the light, my stomach was upset and twisting in knots.

  An hour passed.

  I lay awake.

  My cell phone rang.

  Ryan.

  As I answered, the fear he might have had enough of my insecurities crashed around me.

  "Ryan?"

  “I’m sorry I was so angry.” His voice had an edge.

  “I understand why you said those things." My emotions were writhing and tangled. I was careful not to make the situation worse. "What I texted was flippant. Instead of separating my own past from my present I handled it my usual way—fear of being left alone.”

  “I should’ve waited until we were together so we could talk it through,” he admitted. “You hurt me with your comments. I couldn’t let it go."

  "Please accept my apology." Please, please, please.

  "I do." The covers rustled as if he'd scooted down in his bed. "Now, I can’t sleep until we get this settled.”

  “I don’t always understand how I come across. I’m so used to joking everything away . . . I’ll try to be more aware of my responses. Will you help me?”

  “Sure I will. I'm partly to blame. I shouldn’t have cut you off. I’m sorry I was abrupt. I’m new at this and I want you to trust me. When you didn’t, I overreacted.”

  Come on, Nick. Hold back your tears. Don’t let him think you’ll be a tearful mess every time he has something difficult to discuss.

  “My fears rise up unexpectedly, Ryan. They rush up on me so fast . . . before I know it, I'm handling them badly. You texted so sweetly and look what I did. I don’t understand what you see in me. I mean it when I say I’m sorry. I don't know what else to say.”

  “We’ll talk everything through face to face. Until then, let's agree we're both sorry and put this one to bed, all right?”

  “All right.”

  “I’m glad I called back. Sweet dreams, honey.”

  “You know what, Ryan?"

  "What's that?"

  "When I put on my PJs I could still smell you from the other night. I hung your jacket in my closet, so the smells would filter through all of my stuff.”

  “Oh, baby." A long sigh separated the words. "You’re a tough woman to have as a girlfriend.”

  “I know I am,” I laughed timidly. “I sure miss you. Checking on all those contacts made me feel like you were home—I mean, here, in town, and now I miss you even more.”

  “Goodnight, sweetness."

  “Good night, my Ryan.”

  I turned out the light and fell to sleep, smiling, comfortable and relaxed—even if it was only for that night.

  Chapter 10

  Surprises

  Whenever I volunteered in Yountville, I left the city early to get a head start on the thousands of wine-tasting tourists. By 10:00 a.m. they'd usually overwhelm and jam the one road in town.

  The staff at Veterans' Hospital was cleaning up from breakfast when I arrived. I quickly poked my head into Paul’s office to let him know what I'd brought and that I needed help with the boxes.

  “Ryan’s one of a kind, isn’t he?” Paul mused as he unloaded the cargo from the back of the car. He wore several hats. The one he had on today was the head of social programming. I'd met him the first time I volunteered there with Ryan and made a point to say hello whenever I visited. “I hear you’re singing for the vets today.”

  “Oh, yeah? I didn’t know that."

  I'm not prepared at all. What do I sing?

  I followed him into his office.

  “Seems you’ve been set up,” he said with a wink.

  “When is all this supposed to happen?” I tucked my hair behind my ears.

  “After lunch in the rec room. You have plenty of time to make your visits before the program starts.” He smiled, but he seemed distracted. “If you’re hungry, Grayson can fix a plate for you. I'm sure there are leftovers.”

  “Thanks, I’m not hungry. In fact now that I know I’m singing, I’m kind of nauseous. I’m not the only one performing, am I?”

  “We have two groups of musicians, several author readings, a couple of motivational speakers, and four singers. Ula will be here!”

  “Oh, Ula! She has such a beautiful voice.”

  “So do you,” he remarked. “I'll never forget when you sang with her last year. Are you studying music in college?"

  "I hadn't planned on it, but you're not the first to suggest it."

  "Hmm . . . maybe you should give some serious consideration to it, then? Don't worry, this is all pretty low key." He shuffled some papers on his desk. A knot formed between his brows. "I want to give folks around here a little pick-me-up.”

  "Something wrong?"

  "Tough times with funding," he said. "These men and women wait for benefits to kick in . . . seems like they wait forever before their rehab benefits are approved."

  “Ryan told me about their challenges. I'm sorry. They're very lucky to have you as their advocate."

  "Thank you. I do my best." The tone in his voice seemed heavy with doubt.

  "What am I supposed to sing, Paul?”

  “The musicians we hired know most of the popular hits. Just pick something and let them know.”

  “Will do. I'm sure you'll get the funding you need." I patted his hand. "Guess I’ll see if my favorite patient has a song request.”

  “Johnny Mantle, right?”

  “Right. Paul, he’s been in and out of the hospital so many times . . . is he going to be released soon?”

  “In a few weeks, barring anything unexpected.” He made a blue checkmark on his white board, which hung on the wall behind him and listed his tasks. “Do you want to take his jersey to him?”

  Barring anything unexpected?

  "What's his prognosis?" I have to ask.

  "You know I can't discuss that." When he turned his back to me, I knew Johnny would have challenges the rest of his life.

  He doesn't want to tell me it's not good.

  “I’d love to take the jersey to him,” I rubbed my palms together. "Should I just—"

  "I'll get it for you. I'm pretty sure I saw his mom's name on the guest check in log. She'd love to see you again."

  "I hope so. Thanks, Paul."

  On my way to Johnny’s room, I texted Ryan: You are sneaky.

  He texted back: ? Ms. Young ?

  I texted again: You know!

  He returned: Have fun.

  I found Johnny concentrating on a game of Solitaire, the cards spread on a tray over his bed. I had tucked the jersey behind me and when he looked up, I quickly held it out for him.

  “Look, Johnny! From Ryan!” My voice was loaded with enthusiasm.

  "Mine?" He pushed the tray aside.

  "Yours!" I placed it in his lap and enjoyed his sweet exploration of the jersey, almost petting it with his hands.

  He unfastened each button carefully. When he put it on, a smile fanned his face that was so appreciative it made me melt into the floor.

  "Love it. Thank you Nicky."

  "You're welcome. It was Ryan, I just brought it here because he's on the road playing his baseball."

  "Is Ryan doing good?"

  "Yes!" I blushed and talked to Johnny about all Ryan's saves and how well the team was doing. "First place!"

  “He’s your boyfriend,” Johnny teased.

  "
No he's not." Not yet but we'll see.

  “Your cheeks." He patted his face. "Red.”

  Johnny’s got a lot going on in there. I wonder if he’ll get the chance to show people what he knows? Hopefully he won't be tucked away like my great aunt, Ethel.

  “We’ll see.” I settled into one of the chairs near his bed.

  “I love him,” Johnny confessed. “Treats me nice.”

  Just as I thought I might lose myself, his mother, Samantha, walked into the room.

  “Look, Mom!” her son grabbed the tails of the jersey.

  Almost as endearing as Johnny’s reaction was his mother’s voice, which quickly escalated with excitement. I couldn't leave them and the three of us talked until noon. As we got up to go to the lunchroom, I told them about my performing in the variety show.

  “Is there a song you'd both like to hear?” I slipped my arm through Johnny's while his mother did the same on his other side.

  “Somewhere Over the Rainbow, Hawaiian style,” Johnny offered quickly.

  "Oh, my favorite," Samantha cooed.

  “It's settled, then.” I sat with the two of them at one of the lunch tables.

  “Your voice is pretty.” Johnny stroked his jersey. "Wait 'til you hear, mama."

  His mother looked away. I hoped she didn’t start crying because I was sure I’d follow her lead.

  “Thank you. I love singing. I'll bet . . . as soulful as you are, you must sing, don't you?"

  "Some," he put his head down and smiled.

  "It would be so much fun to do a song together sometime.”

  “Goof around." He shrugged his shoulders.

  “That's me, too. I just goof around.” I poured a glass of iced tea from the pitcher on the lunch table. “Let’s do one together next time I visit. Do you know any duets?”

  “I need practice." His hands drummed a rhythm on the table.

  “We can practice together. It’s a date, okay?”

  Samantha took my hand and squeezed it.

  A year had passed since Johnny suffered his traumatic brain injury. He'd been in and out of the hospital since then. Even so, his mother's tender sadness seemed ready to surface with the beat of her heart. Several times I saw her wipe her eyes. I wondered if her worry would ever stop.