by Angel Payne
Until she’d wielded the announcement, shattering what little was left of my spirit.
“I…I wanted to be the one to tell you,” she’d finally murmured, after quietly blowing her nose. “I’m going back to San Diego on Friday morning. I’ve purchased a one-way ticket with the promise to Drake, and to you if it even matters, that I’ll come back when you decide to be the man I love.”
She’d paused, waiting for me to interject. Our bond still hadn’t returned, but I hadn’t needed that hocus-pocus to feel her hope, so palpable on the air—and how my silence had destroyed it.
“I know you’re going through a lot right now, Fletcher. I get that—but I also can’t be a part of it. I can no longer sit here and watch you self-destruct, taking everyone down with you.” She’d patted my foot. My fucking foot and nothing else. “When you call and let me know you’ve finished this phase you’re going through, I promise I will be on the next plane back to you and Drake—but for now, I think this is what’s best.” The bed had shifted when she’d stood and her shaky breaths had piled atop the misery I’d already slathered in the air. “If you don’t want to drag your backside out of hibernation for me, then at least, please, consider Drake. Fix it with him, Fletcher. Make it right with the man you’ve called brother for so long. He’s hurting, too—and no one can repair that but you.”
If I hadn’t already hated myself, that would have sealed the deal.
Still, I should’ve said something. Done something.
But what? What?
She’d carefully considered every damn one of those words. Talia lived every moment of her life with her heart leading the charge, but if I’d let mine do the same in that moment, the bunkers of her soul would’ve been bombed into the next century by pain, disillusionment, grief, failure, frustration…
Impotence.
I had nothing worthwhile to give to her. I couldn’t just leap out of bed and shout that I’d been healed, that she was right, that this was nothing but a selfish pity party fueled by a lifetime of feeling inadequate, crystallized in one humiliating night not so long ago—when even my cock wouldn’t stand up for itself.
Worthless dream.
Pointless argument.
She was right to leave. So fucking right.
So I’d lain there with my eyes squeezed shut, listening to her gather up the dinner tray and quietly close the door behind her.
Then, something had broken inside.
Then something else.
And more, like a chain of C-4 charges on a dam, setting free the emotions in my carefully guarded reservoir.
I’d been breached.
The dam had cracked. Then leaked. Then burst wide open, crumbling beneath the weight of so many emotions stored on the other side.
Hot, horrible, unwelcome tears had filled my eyes, streamed down my cheeks, and wetted the hair grown so long I could easily qualify for a sizable man bun. I hated this. I needed this. I could no longer avoid this.
“Tolly,” I’d croaked into my soaked pillow. “Tolly.”
I had nothing to live for if she left us. Yeah, I had Drake, but there was a damn good chance his thoughts were the same as mine. With Talia gone, we’d be alive but not living. Going through the motions. Was it too late to even make things right with him anyway? He’d barely come near me for a week, though I couldn’t blame him. The stunt I’d pulled with them in bed was unforgivable—and as my luck would have it, the whole thing had just seemed to bond him and Talia tighter.
That joke was really on me.
Add it to the bawl-fest tab.
I’d cried for so many things that night. For the love slipping through my fingers because I wasn’t strong enough to hold on to it. For the gold-standard friendship I’d all but destroyed with my selfish behavior. Yeah, I’d even cried for my parents, who’d never give me their love without the price tag of their control.
And last of all, I’d cried for myself.
I’d never be the same man I had been before the accident. I had to stop pretending I was. The effort of it was exhausting. The truth was, my life had been unalterably changed. Some random asshole had plowed his truck into me one morning while I’d been making my way to work. It was fact, and I wouldn’t wake up tomorrow morning to anything different. And yeah, I was angry about it. I wanted to jab a middle finger at God, or whoever the hell lived up there, and demand to know why. Why me? What had I done that was so wrong, that this was happening? How the hell was I supposed to deal with it now? I wasn’t strong enough for a regular life, let alone one with so many obstacles.
I had fallen into a deep and exhausted sleep that night, wrung from finally letting the dam burst. Shit. Tears were really tiring. How many had I caused Tolly and Drake to lose in the last six weeks? Too many, of that I was damn sure.
When I woke up the following morning, I had a pounding headache. The entirety of Mission Beach had been flown in from California and dumped under my eyelids.
The thought started a chain reaction in my head.
Mission Beach.
San Diego.
Talia.
Talia!
“Whoa. Rough night, man?” Marcus sat in his usual spot beside my bed, looking up from his magazine when I stirred. That was another cool thing about the guy. His impressive magazine collection. Everything from Car and Driver and Top Gear to Esquire and GQ was in his stack. In his line of work, interesting reading material was probably necessary.
“So I really look as bad as I feel?” I responded to his query.
“Hate to say so, boss—but yeah.” His caring smile overtook his entire face.
“Doesn’t matter.” My voice was rough and dry. I reached for the water glass on my nightstand and swiftly chugged the contents. Marcus’s eyebrows jumped, but I didn’t care. “Is Talia still here?”
His brows descended into a curious V. “Yep. She was out in the kitchen when I got here.”
“She’s leaving,” I said matter-of-factly. “Going back to San Diego.”
His eyebrows didn’t pop back up. The surprise was on me this time. “Is that right?”
More bewilderment. Why wasn’t he more shocked now? Outraged on my behalf?
“Yeah,” I stated carefully. “That’s right.”
“So, what are you going to do?” He looked at me pointedly.
I stared back, angry and puzzled. “What the hell do you mean?”
“You just going to lie there and watch the best thing in your world walk out on you?” He carefully placed a bookmark into the magazine in his hands. Yeah, a bookmark in a magazine. Still wasn’t as weird as his Mr. Miyagi approach to this shit. “Not that I blame her at this point, boss. You are one smelly fuck.” He smirked as he got in his dig.
I wanted to laugh. He was a cool guy. But his words, piled on top of whatever the hell I’d broken through last night, hit home. Hard. For the first time in ten days, I seriously wanted to get out of bed.
“Okay. Point taken, asshole.” I’d called him worse—way worse—during PT sessions. “Help me up. I don’t want her to leave.”
I sat up with gusto—and quickly learned the lesson about that move. The pain in my head shifted. I clutched at the side as if to hold the contents within.
“You okay?” Marcus prompted.
“Just a headache. I didn’t sleep well.”
“I’ll get you some Motrin.” He stood and headed to the medicine cabinet in the other bathroom. It hadn’t escaped my notice that all medication was now kept outside this room and bathroom—away from the depressed patient.
“No time for that.” I jabbed a finger out to stop him. There was no time to lose. “I need to stop her, man. I need to see Talia.” I frantically looked around the room. Where was my robe? Fuck it, who cared? “Wait. Shit. What day is it?”
“Thursday.”
“Thank God. Okay. She said she was leaving Friday.” I slumped back into the pillows.
Marcus stomped back over. The Mr. Miyagi thing was oddly perfect for him, despi
te having a dozen tatts and at least seventy pounds of bulk on the original. “So that’s it?” he leveled. “Are you really going to wait until Friday to try stopping her?”
“Of course not,” I snapped. “I just need to think of a plan. A good one. As soon as my head clears.” I slammed a hand to my forehead. “Damn, it feels so weird.”
Something was happening, but I couldn’t pinpoint what. The longer I lay there, the sadder I felt—but was strangely detached from the emotion at the same time. I thought I’d cried every shred of pain away last night, but my head hummed louder and louder with the shit. I took a deep breath, trying to gain clarity, but there was an overwhelming feeling of anguish inside me.
Then, like lightning, it hit me.
Talia.
A slow grin spread across my lips.
Talia.
She was back. Right where she belonged. Inside my head.
Our current was here—at least for me. She was here. She was here. I’d shrouded my mind in pain and misery for so long, adding extra layers with all the medications, that I’d shorted out the wires of our connection. Last night, I’d cleared out gunk. Rewired the control panel.
Could she feel it, too? The answer mattered but didn’t. I could feel her, and what I felt wasn’t good. So much pain…more sadness than I had ever sensed from her heart. Could she really be so devastated?
I had to do something about it. Now.
I pulled myself up again, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Once more, I clutched the base of my skull as pain radiated through my body. I now understood why the agony was so intense. It wasn’t just mine. Her pain was consuming me, too, even if it was secondhand. Only I could make it stop.
Because I am the cause of it.
My T-shirt clung to my body nearly on its own power. Damn thing smelled like the Bulls locker room. My hair stuck out in thirteen different directions. Finger combing wasn’t going to help. Shit, I actually had tangles. A full beard covered my jaw and chin, the fast result of not shaving for two weeks.
Though I felt and looked homeless, I needed to find Talia. I’d apologize and I’d mean it, then vow to spend the rest of my life making all this crap up to her. She didn’t deserve to feel so hopeless and knowing I’d caused all of her anguish moved my sorry feet, one in front of the other, to find her in the condo.
By the time I reached the kitchen, I was damn sure I’d faint. Panic at the thought of her catching an earlier flight motivated me deeper into the room.
“Where is she?” I barked when I saw Drake.
“Well, hello to you too, asshole.” Yep. Pissed. Much more than I’d given him credit for.
“Drake.”
He just stared at me.
“Where. Is. Talia?”
He set his coffee down so hard, the liquid splashed out over the counter. “Out. Said she wanted to take a walk along the lake one last time. You know she’s really leaving tomorrow, don’t you? She wasn’t just trying to get your ass out of bed—though apparently, that did work.”
“I know.” I attempted to drag back my hair again. Christ. I’d likely have to cut out some of these knots. “I know, but—”
“But what? She’s made up her mind.”
I barely heard him. The hum in my brain got worse. “But she’s…miserable,” I said in a drifting murmur, trying to mentally reach her. Trying to find her…
“Duh, Poindexter.” He swiped at the spilled coffee with an angry slash of a hand towel.
“No. Drake.” I tapped my head, then my heart. “I feel her. She’s sad. So sad. I…”
“It’s back?” He quickly clued in to what I was talking about. The towel got sacked into the sink.
“Yeah.”
“And can she feel you?” He rushed to where I stood by the breakfast bar.
“I don’t know. It seems to be independent of each other. There’s not a manual here. We just both have it.” I shrugged. It was so hard to explain to other people.
“Damn. I will never understand—”
He was cut off by the doorbell—odd in and of itself, since one of the doormen always called up to announce a visitor. Maybe Talia had forgotten her key. Fuck, I could only hope…
Drake opened the door and two of the most pregnant women I’d ever seen pushed their way inside. Claire Montgomery-Stone was here, this time with Margaux Asher in tow. Judging by their rough trudges and their fierce glowers, they were both in the middle of a contraction.
“Ladies. Good to see you.” Drake kissed each one carefully on the cheek, trying not to gawk at the dual bellies taking up most of the room.
Margaux snorted at his tact. Like a lie of omission, it just highlighted ‘things’ with brighter strokes. “We know, we know,” Margaux huffed. “We look like beached whales. Newsflash—we feel like them, too. This is the ugly stage, so keep your arms and feet inside the cart at all times. You never know what’ll get taken off.” Despite the grousing, she winked at Drake to finish off her opener.
Claire giggled while leaning back against a counter. “And I thought she was a handful before.”
As Claire drawled the comment, I realized neither of them had noticed me on the other side of the breakfast bar yet. Maybe that was a good thing.
“So where’s our sweet little bestie?” Margaux asked. “Did you leave her tied to the bed again?”
I almost gave up my presence with a snort. Few people on this planet could incite a blush on my brother’s face. Margaux and her brass balls were VIP members of the club.
“Not this time.” He kept it together long enough to score a comeback.
When his eyes shifted to me, theirs followed suit.
“Whoa.” Claire’s quiet comment slipped out before she slapped a hand over her mouth.
Margaux didn’t possess the same filter. “What the fuck happened to you?” She eyed me once, head to toe, appearing lost between a grimace and a chortle. “Dude, the brain injury excuse will only take you so far.” She waved a hand, demonstrating her point in one shitty but accurate gesture. “Unless you’re floating possible Halloween costumes? Let me guess. Homeless zombie? Backwoods goat herder? Luke Skywalker on a bender?”
I lifted one side of my mouth in a sneer. “How that man of yours doesn’t gag you, I will never understand.”
The woman snickered. Margaux loved a good bounce back, no matter how crude.
“Right? That’s what Killian says all the time, too,” Claire chimed in, tossing out another giggle when Margaux began with the icy glances. “Earned the immunity idol against those dirty looks a long time ago, sister. Not going to work.”
“Well, shit.”
They both busted into giggles again. At the same time, I traded a don’t-even-try-to-understand glance with Drake, tempting us both to add snickers to the girls’ mix. No wonder Talia held these two so close to her heart. Their joy was infectious, despite how they were both carrying a whole extra human around in their bellies. None of it had slowed down their spirits or their wits.
Claire turned her caramel gaze to me. “Let’s get serious for a second, Fletcher.” She winced, tiptoeing into her next query. “Did—ummm—Mac tell you not to shower or something? Is that it?”
Drake cleared his throat from behind them. “It’s…been a rough go around here, lately.”
They turned in tandem, detecting the subtext of his tone. After observing the back-up confirmation on his face, they rotated back toward me. Their movements were so in sync, I almost wondered if they’d rehearsed. Not that I was going to ask. The new glints in both their gazes were tough enough to take—but right now I’d stand up to an army of real zombies, if it meant getting through to Talia.
“Oooohhh.” Claire drew it out for dramatic effect. “Waaaiit a minuuuute.”
Margaux folded her arms. “We’ve seen this before, haven’t we?”
“Absolutely.” Claire nodded sagely.
“What the hell are you two talking about?” I couldn’t resist their bait any longer.
“This.” Claire’s scrunched her nose. “This…look.”
Margaux sniffed. “You’re being generous, sister.”
“Yes, well…Fletcher remembers, too. He just doesn’t want to admit he does.”
I scowled. “I remember what?”
Claire’s lips pursed. “The forty days and forty nights of Surfer Jesus Killian?”
Margaux burst out laughing. Even Drake’s lips twitched.
“The hell?” I rejoined.
Claire raised both hands. “All right, all right. You didn’t disappear completely off the grid. We’ll give you points back for that.”
“Haven’t been living in gutters and hostels like he did, either,” I defended.
“No points for that one,” Margaux countered. “If the beastie smells the same…”
Claire flashed a perky smile. “Luckily, I came along and saved him from himself.”
“And they all lived happily ever after.” Margaux wiped her hands together as if to say ‘my work here is done’.
“It wasn’t quite that simple, but you get the point.” Claire smiled to me then Drake.
“And if her husband was here right now, he’d glow and preen and say how she lifted him up at his darkest moment and how the sun shoots out of her bum when she poops.”
Drake laughed. Hell, even I laughed. Claire just rolled her eyes. “Off topic much, girlfriend?”
“Right.” Margaux jabbed a determined finger back at me. “You.”
“Me?”
“You, mister.” She walked over and propped a hip against the bar. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
I blinked. Frowned. “I live here.”
“Shut up. Follow my figurative, golden boy.” She sliced out a flat hand, karate-chopping the air. “Be straight with us. Are you about to break her heart, Fletcher Ford? Because I don’t think we can sit by and let that happen.”
Margaux stepped back into the living room, peering around. “Where is our girl, by the way?”
“Out for a walk,” Drake answered. “I suspect she’ll be back any minute.”
“Perfect.” Claire smacked her hands together, channeling a WWE wrestler at show time—fascinating look for a woman nicknamed ‘Fairy’. “We can say this while she’s not here.”
