by R. R. Banks
Brooke and I are standing at the rear of the crowd at Rick's grave site. The mood is understandably somber – a mood that matches my own perfectly. Caleb is standing with the other pallbearers just behind his parents who are seated next to the casket. The priest is delivering his sermon, which is supposed to be uplifting and inspirational, but I'm not really finding anything uplifting or inspirational about it.
All I can do is try to avoid fixating on Caleb. He looks so different than the boy I'd fallen in love with all those years ago. He's older, but that age has only served to make him more handsome. He's bigger than he used to be, has a dark, bushy beard, and his dark hair, once worn down to his shoulders, was now cropped close to his head.
He'd always been a big guy – he was a football star, after all. But now, he is massive. He has arms as thick as my thighs, broad shoulders, and a thick chest. He also has a hard edge to him now – one he didn't have before. There's a cynicism and sharpness in his face, not to mention a darkness in the air about him that's new. In a word, he looks – dangerous.
He looks so different and yet, somehow, the moment I saw him on the street – the instant our eyes locked – I knew. Knew it was him.
I heard through the grapevine that he'd joined the military shortly after leaving Sheridan Falls. At the time, I'd pressed for details but didn't get any. I knew Rick was still in contact with him, but he wasn't giving up any information. I did my best to pry it out of him – I yelled, screamed, and even cried. All to no avail. He just kept telling me that he was sorry and that it wasn't his story to share.
Back then, I so desperately needed to understand why Caleb had run out on me – on us – the way he had. Needed to understand if it was something I did and if so, what that something was. For the longest time, I wandered through my life in a self-loathing haze, sure I'd done something to drive Caleb away. I was a wreck and had so many questions and yet, no answers to those questions.
It was only after getting into therapy that I started to get my mind right. I sat with my therapist four days a week, doing intensive work. It wasn't until I went away to school and put some physical distance between me and Sheridan Falls that I started to feel even remotely better. More in control of myself and my life.
But now I know, it was all just a facade. That all of the work I'd done, all of the progress I'd made had been a sham. I knew because the moment I saw Caleb Tirico again, all of those walls I'd worked so hard to build came crashing back down again.
At least, for the most part.
I'm hanging on to my walls and defenses by my fingertips. And although I feel like I'm on the verge of breaking down completely, I'm managing to keep standing. Somehow. I feel like falling apart, but there is something inside of me still holding me together. So, at least I have that going for me.
I don't even realize my gaze is locked on to him until he looks up and our eyes meet. He holds my gaze for the longest time and I can see something in his face I didn't expect to see – uncertainty. He almost looks – scared.
What does he have to be scared about? It's not like I'm going to kill him or anything. Although, smacking him a few times across the face sounds incredibly appealing right now.
Caleb gives me a small, almost shy smile, and I feel the anger, dark and abiding, boiling up within me. It's taking everything in me to not run over there, get in his face, and demand some goddamn answers.
I feel Brooke squeeze my hand again. “Time and place, sis,” she says. “Time and place.”
She's right of course. I'm here to pay my respects to a friend. Not berate Caleb Tirico. I tear my eyes away from him and look down at the ground, trying to concentrate on the eulogy the priest is delivering. I'm finding it hard to focus though. Even though I'm not looking at him, my mind is still spinning with thoughts of him.
For the next hour, I listen as Rick's closest friends – everybody except Caleb, interestingly enough – stand up and deliver their own eulogies, say goodbye in their own words. I think it's a nice touch and I'm glad Rick's parents can hear how much he meant to everybody. It's cold comfort, I know, but at least they can know that their son was loved.
Eventually, the last of the speakers step back into the crowd and the service comes to an end. The crowd slowly disperses as they filter out of the cemetery and out to the parking lot. I linger for a moment and watch as Caleb stands next to the casket, speaking with Rick's parents.
I'm too far away to hear what they're saying, but I can tell by the body language of the older couple that he's giving them some sense of relief. Some sense of comfort.
Brooke gives my hand a squeeze and nods toward the parking lot. “Come on,” she says. “Let's get out of here.”
I nod absently, hearing her voice, but not hearing what she was saying, my eyes are still focused on Caleb. For whatever reason, I can't seem to turn away. There is something in me that feels drawn to him. Compelled by him. It's stupid. It's ridiculous and dangerous, but I can't control the tide of emotions rising inside of me.
“Abby, babe,” my sister says. “Don't even think about it. Seriously, don't even think about it. We gotta go.”
I snap out of the daze I was in and look at her. “What?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “I said to not even think about it,” she says. “Don't even look at that son of a bitch. He's not worth your time, your tears, or your heartache. Haven't you learned that by now?”
I had learned it, yeah. It was a painful, years long lesson, but it was one I learned. Still though, seeing him standing there – I couldn't help but notice that he'd gotten even more handsome than he'd been back in the day. And judging by the way Rick's parents were holding on to his hands and speaking to him with smiles on their tear streaked faces, I had to believe he still had some shred of his humanity. Of the personality that had made me fall in love with him all those years ago.
“Seriously, Abby,” Brooke snaps. “Pull your head out. That guy is poison. You hear me? Absolute nuclear poison. Now, let's go before I kick your ass.”
I give my sister a small grin. She's young but feisty. And she always has my best interests at heart. She knows what I went through when Caleb left. She saw my daily struggles and the torture I put myself through. She'd been too young back then to really do anything to help me, but now, she's my chief protector. Or at least, she tries to be.
“It's not that I don't appreciate you taking care of me,” I say. “But shouldn't the big sister be taking care of the little one? Shouldn't this thing be the other way around?”
Brooke shrugs. “We take care of each other,” she says. “Believe me, there are plenty of times when you're the one picking me up.”
I take one last look back at Caleb, still standing with Rick's folks talking, before turning and letting Brooke lead me to the parking lot. In the distance, I see somebody standing among the headstones, well away from Rick's gravesite. The man is just standing there – staring at me. And then it dawns on me.
“Oh, my God,” I mutter.
Brooke looks over and sees what – or rather, who – I saw. “Yeah, because that's not totally creepy or anything.”
James apparently watched the funeral from a distance. Or more likely, was watching me from a distance. The sight of him standing out there, silently watching me, sent a cold chill down my spine and I couldn't suppress the shudder that passed through me.
“I need a drink,” Brooke announces. “And so, do you.”
I glance at my watch. “It's only three in the afternoon.”
She shrugs. “After the shitstorm these last few days have been, we deserve it,” she says. “And you probably deserve a double – or twelve.”
Chapter Twenty
Abby
The Wagon is bristling with people when we walk in. It's tough to find a seat, but we manage – a booth near the back. Something about a funeral – even when you don't know the person all that well – that drives people to drink. It almost seems like a rite of passage o
r something.
And the fact that the Wagon is stuffed to the gills with people is grimly ironic and maybe even a little tasteless, given the fact that that Rick was killed by a drunk driver. Which is also why I asked for a lemonade instead of alcohol. My way of paying respects to the deceased. It's a small, useless gesture, but it's all I can do at the moment.
Surprisingly – given that coming out for a drink was her suggestion – Brooke follows my lead and orders a Coke.
“No Captain Morgan with that?” I tease.
“Ha, no,” she says, rubbing her temples. “I have a busy day tomorrow at the store and I don't want to be hungover. Besides, it seems a little – distasteful to be drinking after Rick's funeral, considering the circumstances and all don't you think?”
“I couldn't agree more,” I say, sipping my pathetic excuse for a lemonade.
I grimace as I take a long swallow of the stuff. It's pretty much just lemon-flavored water – calling it lemonade is a pretty big stretch. But then, what do I really expect from a bar? Most people here only drink the lemonade when it's mixed with something stronger anyway.
“I'm proud of you, sis,” Brooke says suddenly. “I didn't think you were ever going to get rid of James, but you did. And I'm glad. You deserve so much more.”
I give her a little smile. “Thanks,” I reply. “If not for running into Caleb like I did – well – running into him not only pissed me off, but it really made me open my eyes and come to a few realizations about things.”
Brooke's eyes soften as she reaches across the table and takes my hands. “So how are you doing, sis?” she asks. “I mean, how are you really?”
“I'm fine,” I say. “All things considered, you know. I did just attend a funeral for a friend who died too young, but –”
“Not that,” she groans. “You know what I mean.”
I do. I know all too well what she's talking about. She wants to know how I'm doing in regard to seeing Caleb. And honestly, I'm not entirely sure how I'm doing in regard to that.
I stare down at my lemonade and think about the question. How do I feel? It's a complicated question, one I don't even have the answer to just yet. When I saw him, I immediately felt all those old feelings again – hurt, betrayal, and sadness.
When I saw him, I was angry and filled with rage. I wanted to kick him in the balls, smack him across the face, and maybe even punch him in the nose. But I also wanted him to walk over to me, wrap me in those big strong arms and kiss me, apologizing for all the years we'd missed because he'd been a total and complete jackass. That he'd done me wrong.
It was a small part of me that wanted that – a very small part – but I'd be lying if I said it didn't exist.
But I had no idea how to really communicate any of that to my sister. There is still so much I'm sorting through and processing and I have no idea exactly what I'm feeling. I'm a mess at the moment.
“I honestly don't know,” I say, giving her a shrug.
I meet Brooke's gaze and notice she's staring at something behind me. Part of me freaks out, assuming it's Caleb, but then she leans forward and whispers, her voice sounding urgent.
“You did break things off with James, didn't you?”
“Yeah, why?” I ask, slowly turning and looking behind me.
Brooke didn't even need to answer me, because when I turn around, James is standing right there. And he's walking this way with a large bouquet of flowers in his hands.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath. “Just unbelievable.”
Planting my face in my hands, I lower my head. I just want to hide. I have no desire to deal with him today. Especially not today.
“Hi Brooke,” James says quietly. “And Abby, I'm sorry about your friend. I came by to pay my respects.”
Brooke raises an eyebrow and looks over at me, waiting for me to respond.
“Yeah, thanks, James,” I say with a polite smile.
I'm hoping that maybe he's just going to say his piece and then leave us alone afterward. But no, of course he doesn't. He stands there awkwardly.
“Here, I got these for you,” he says, handing me the flowers.
I look at the bouquet and shake my head. It's filled with some of my favorite flowers – lilies. He knows me well. And he obviously thinks he can manipulate me with them.
“Uh thank you,” I say, placing the flowers on the table. “Listen, James, I really don't feel like talking right now –”
“But – why not?” he asks.
“Because I just left the funeral of a friend and now just isn't the time, James,” I say.
I look at Brooke for some help. She catches on a moment later and jumps in to save me.
“Yeah, not only that, we're having a little sister time,” she says, “So, if you don't mind –”
“I do mind, actually,” he says. “I have something to say and it's only going to take a minute. Abby, we really need to talk about what happened, and it can't wait. I'm sorry, Brooke, but your sister and I really need to hash some things out. Whatever problems you seem to think exist can be worked through. I'm not ready to have things end like this.”
“Well, you don't have much of a choice, James,” I say. “Because I am ready. I've ended things, and that's that, so –”
He grabs my hand and yanks me to a standing position before I even know what's happening. I try to break free from his grasp, but he has a tight grip on my wrist and I can't pull away. I look at him with fury in my eyes.
“No, Abby,” he says. “We need to talk. Now.”
His voice rises to nearly a shout, and he didn't even sound like the man I knew. Not at all.
“James, let go of me,” I say, my own voice growing louder and almost everyone at the Wagon is stopping their own conversations to stare at us.
Brooke stands up and tries to reason with him, “James, let her go,” she says. “It's time to move on. She's not into things with you anymore. You can't do this –”
“Like hell I can't,” he growls, his eyes full of rage as he looks over at Brooke. “Come on, Abby. We need to talk. Somewhere private.”
He's trying to pull me away from the table and toward the door, yanking my arm so hard I'm afraid he's going to pull it from the socket. I'm fighting the entire time, hoping that I can either break free or that maybe he will come to his senses and let me go. People are staring at us, but nobody is stepping into intervene. Nobody is stepping in to help me.
And suddenly, I'm afraid. Very afraid. James never gave me reason to suspect he was anything but a quiet, boring pharmacist. He's always been a nice, sweet, and for the most part, a considerate and kind man. But now, I was seeing a different side of him. A side that frightened me.
“Let me go now, James,” I say. “Or I'm going to press charges –”
We reach the door of the Wagon and I continue to struggle. And before I know what happens, someone steps in, coming in from out of nowhere to block it.
It's Caleb. I stop fighting against James’ grasp and stare at the large man in front of us, my heart literally stuttering in my chest as I meet his gaze.
“You heard the lady,” Caleb says. “Let her go, now.”
“Who do you think you are?” James argues. “Waltzing into this town and disrupting everything? You have no right to –”
“Let her go,” Caleb repeats. “Now. Before you make me force you to let her go.”
James holds on tight, yanking me closer to him almost defensively. I half expect him to claim me by saying, “She's mine. Mine. All mine!” but he doesn't.
Instead, he stands firm, staring at Caleb with a look of pure hatred upon his face. He doesn't believe Caleb will do anything to him. Not here. But he didn't know Caleb and James was making a very grave tactical mistake. Even the old Caleb – the one without the size or the military training he was rumored to have – would have been hard pressed to let someone get away with something like this.
And I'm ri
ght. He still won't.
Caleb moves forward, stepping up so that he's chest to chest with James. Caleb is bigger and broader than James, so he's literally looming over him. James isn't a short man, not by any means, but Caleb made him look like a midget. James also worked out, was in pretty decent shape. But then, as fit as he is, he's nothing compared to Caleb, who looks like he was simply carved out of granite.
“Are you seriously going to walk in here and treat Abby like this?” Caleb asks. “Not only treat her like this, but then turn around and think you're going to get away with it?”
“It's personal,” James says. “This is between Abby and me. So, you should probably butt out of our business.”
“Uh huh, well it looks to me like Abby doesn't want to go with you,” Caleb says. “And shouldn't she get a say in this?”
James doesn't say anything else, he merely tries to push his way past Caleb. Big mistake. When James makes contact with him, Caleb grabs hold of the smaller man's shoulder and stops him in his tracks. And when James turns around, throwing a wild haymaker at him, Caleb easily sidesteps it and laughs.
It's effective though. James, his face a mask of rage, drops my hand, steps up and takes another wild swing at him – and misses again. He's trying to bait Caleb into a fight – but all Caleb does is stand there and laugh, letting James look like a fool with his wild punches. After a few moments and several missed punches, James stops. He stares daggers at Caleb – who gives him a wide smile in return.
“My turn,” Caleb says.
He steps up and with one punch, to the right side of his face, Caleb drops James right there on the floor of the Wagon.
My ex-boyfriend falls to the ground, clutching his nose. There is blood oozing out from between his fingers, and he's moaning in agony – and looking at me with intense hatred all at the same time. Other than what looks like it'll probably end up being a broken nose, he otherwise looks okay. I look up at Caleb and he looks back at me, a smirk on his handsome face.
