by Sarah Tipton
“If we’re not practicing, I’m going home.” She pushed off the couch ignoring the sleepiness in her limbs, and thrust the can at Bailee. “Don’t think I can sing today, anyway.”
The burn rose in her throat and nose again. She needed to be home before collapsing into tears. “I’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Next practice isn’t until Monday. But you better be here.” Vance’s attitude about the missed practice reminded her so much of Sawyer that Zoey practically ran up the stairs. She didn’t want to think about Sawyer, or Justin, or her ripping heart.
The nasty, cat-pee taste of the beer coated her mouth. Good thing she’d walked today, even if her trip home would take ten times as long. She dragged her heavy feet along the ground. Why had she kissed Sawyer? Why had she confessed to Justin? Why couldn’t she answer those questions?
The walk worked out some of the weariness, and worrying about how she’d avoid Livvy or her dad finished waking her up. She drained her water bottle to dilute the scent of beer on her breath, but since it did little to erase the taste, she doubted it helped.
Rounding the corner onto her street, the sight of an empty driveway flooded her with relief. No one would ask her about practice or why she was crying again. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and hurried into the house. No one was around to find out what she did—about the betrayal, the breakup, the beer. The truth would stay cramped up inside.
If only there was someone she could talk to, someone who wouldn’t hate her for breaking the heart of the best boyfriend in the world by kissing his best friend.
But there was nobody.
27
I So Hate Consequences
Justin looked around the garage. The drums—and Sawyer—were out of his life. Why didn’t he feel better? The space where Sawyer’s drums had been sat vacant like a black hole sucking away all the happiness. Justin shoved the couch into the corner and rearranged the rest of the furniture and the amps filling up the emptiness. It didn’t work.
The splintered guitar was packed in its case, now a coffin. He’d learned all the chords on that guitar, most of them with Vance’s help. Through months—years—of awkward noises, cumbersome chord changes, clunky strumming, that guitar had stuck by him until his playing turned smooth becoming an extension of himself. He’d carried the guitar into the house, to church camp, to Zoey’s.
Justin sank onto the ottoman, staring at the closed casket. His heart felt ready for burial too. All that he loved, destroyed in a single day. If he hadn’t gone to see Zoey, would things have turned out differently? Going to Aurora Fire practice had been like rushing through a song to the guitar solo, only to ruin the music.
The sound of voices drifted in from outside. His family walked up the driveway, Tristan sucking on a honey straw and Savannah drinking fresh lemonade.
“Feeling better?” Mom shifted bulging bags overflowing with leafy vegetables.
Would he ever? He forced a smile. “I guess.”
“Good to hear.”
“We got popcorn for tonight.” Savannah raised a long, skinny bag stuffed with sugar corn.
“Yum.” He attempted excitement, but his voice sounded dead.
Savannah’s smile vanished.
He had more important things to worry about than his little sister’s feelings. “Dad, I need to talk to you.”
“OK.” Dad stretched out the syllables, the unspoken “what’s this about?” falling in between. “Let me put these bags in the kitchen first.”
Everyone went inside, and the garage grew quiet again. Justin rubbed the back of his neck. Dad had to give him money for a new guitar. Justin baby-sat and helped Mom around the house without receiving an allowance because his parents said they’d give him money when he needed it. This definitely qualified as a need.
“What’s up?” Dad stepped back into the garage.
“I need a new guitar.”
“What happened to yours?” Dad glanced at the rack where the shiny blue and white electric stood alone.
“It’s in there.” He pointed at the case peeking from behind the chair. “It...broke.”
“It did?” Dad frowned. “How?”
“It just did.” He swallowed. How did he explain that he’d busted it? “It was getting old.”
“Let’s see.” The lines in Dad’s forehead deepened. He wasn’t buying it.
“It can’t be fixed.” Justin stalled. The sight of the splintered guitar would be as good as a guilty confession.
“Fine. I want to see it.” Dad remained calm and unyielding.
Shoulders sagging, Justin slid the case into the open and unfastened the latches. Slowly, he raised the lid, revealing the jagged edges of wood, the loose strings, the snapped fingerboard.
“What happened?”
“Like I said, it just broke.” Justin licked dry lips.
“I don’t think so.” Dad turned stern. “It looks run over by a car.”
“I’d never do that.”
“It didn’t just break.”
Justin glanced away. He should’ve blamed Tristan. Dad might’ve believed that. Too late now.
“I don’t know why you destroyed your guitar, but you’ll have to replace it yourself.”
“Myself?” Heat boiled in his chest. Justin clenched and unclenched his fists. “How am I supposed to do that?”
Dad stared at the pieces of wood and released a long, sad sigh. “I guess you’ll have to get a job.”
“A job?” The pressure inside exploded. “I’m supposed to get a job now?”
“Justin, I’m not going to give you the money to replace an expensive piece of equipment that someone—you—clearly destroyed.”
He hadn’t meant to destroy it. It’d been an accident, a mistake. He almost laughed. Mistakes were ruining his life.
“What happened?” Dad studied his face. “And I don’t mean with the guitar. What happened with you? Did you have a fight with Zoey? Sawyer?”
“My guitar broke, and I need to replace it.” Justin locked his jaw and ducked his head. His life wasn’t available for discussion.
Dad was quiet a moment and when he spoke, he sounded tired. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to earn the money.”
Staring at the ground, Justin let out one of Sawyer’s words.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.” All his strength drained out of him leaving behind an aching emptiness. Nothing he did or said eased the pain.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you.” Dad clamped a hand on his shoulder. “But if you’re not careful, you’ll end up grounded, unable to look for a job, and with no money to buy a new guitar.”
He lifted his head. The sympathy flooding Dad’s eyes only fueled the torment. He jerked away. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
He slammed the guitar case shut with his foot and went into the house.
His relationship with Zoey, over.
His favorite guitar, destroyed.
His income, cut off.
What else was there to lose?
28
Losing The Lifeboat
“I don’t feel so good.” Zoey stood by the dining table and rubbed her head making her sleep-rumpled hair messier to emphasize her excuse to Livvy and Dad. Which wasn’t really a lie. She felt terrible, even if it was guilt-terrible and not sick-terrible. “I probably shouldn’t go to church today.”
“You don’t look so good either.” Dad accepted Zoey’s words at face value. And did nothing to help her feel better. “You haven’t felt good for a few days, have you?”
“Nope.” Another mostly truth. Zoey sniffed like she had a runny nose, but all the crying of the past few days had dried up everything, including the congestion, and left behind an aching head.
Livvy sat at the table and picked apart a muffin watching Zoey but not contributing.
“You should go back to bed.” Dad slid a bookmark into the book he’d been reading. The cover was a dirty blue with scroll-y gold writing Zoey could
n’t read, but probably gave some boring history title. “Want me to fix you a cup of tea or something?”
“No.” Her stomach turned at the suggestion of anything, food or drink. She should be happy Dad was buying her excuse and not probing, but his sympathy only made her feel worse. She didn’t deserve niceness. She deserved the misery reigning inside her head. “Thanks.”
Zoey padded down the hall to her bedroom. Before she could push the door shut, Livvy was pushing the door open. Zoey tumbled onto the bed without making eye contact and hid under the sheets. Go away. Just go away.
“I know you’re not sick.” Livvy tugged the sheets off Zoey’s face. “I know you don’t feel good, but you’re not sick.”
Zoey rolled away, groaning and hoping Livvy took the sound as proof she was sick and not for what it really meant—annoyance.
“You don’t want to see Justin, right?” The mattress sagged as Livvy sat. “I totally get that. Believe me, I get it.”
With Livvy’s dating history, yeah, she probably did. But losers breaking up with Livvy wasn’t the same as what happened between Justin and Zoey. Zoey was the loser.
More groans. She buried her face in the pillow.
“But Zo, don’t avoid God too.” Livvy massaged Zoey’s shoulder. Another show of sympathy she didn’t deserve. “Trust me, He’s the only one who will help you get through this.”
No, He wouldn’t. God knew what Zoey had done. If God was taking sides, He’d take Justin’s. Justin was the good guy.
“If you want, you can come to the college class with me instead of the youth group. That way, you won’t have to sit through an entire hour in the same room as Justin.”
Couldn’t Livvy just accept Zoey’s sick excuse?
Apparently not. “The first time you see him will be hard—whether that’s today, or next month, or next year. So you might as well get it over with so you can move on.”
Why wouldn’t Livvy move on? And why did she have to make so much sense?
“Fine.” Zoey kicked the sheets to the end of the bed and sat up. “I’ll go.”
“Good.” Livvy hugged her. “I promise, it’ll start getting easier from here.”
Zoey didn’t deserve “easier” either.
~*~
Wrong, wrong, wrong. Justin sitting on a separate couch was wrong. Zoey being in the same room as him was wrong. Zoey being at church, in the presence of God, was wrong.
She tucked her feet up onto the couch. And Livvy was wrong. Nothing felt easier. Everything felt harder. Especially the pain, the guilt clawing at her chest, begging for release. But who could Zoey tell? Justin had been her best friend. She had other friends—girls at school, people she worked with at the ice cream shack—but they weren’t confess-and-cry-on-the-shoulder friends. They were sit-together-at-the-movies friends or like-the-online-post friends. Sure, they’d listen to her confess the drama of the breakup, but for the entertainment.
Everyone knew her as Justin’s girlfriend. That’s who she’d been practically since she’d moved here in eighth grade. Everyone knew Justin too, and he was the good guy. The hurt boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. She couldn’t spin the story to make herself look good. She was the villain. Zoey didn’t notice Chey until the girl sat next to her.
“Hey.”
Zoey didn’t respond to Chey’s greeting.
“You OK?”
Zoey looked at Chey. The need to tell someone expanded inside her chest and pushed into her throat and out her mouth. “I broke up with Justin.”
“I’m sorry.” Chey glanced around the room sounding neutral rather than sympathetic. “How long were you together?”
“Three-and-a-half years.”
“That’s not a break up; it’s a divorce.” Chey’s cheeks turned pink as soon as the words entered the air.
But Zoey felt a ghost of a smile tug her lips. Chey was a girl who wouldn’t offer false sympathy to get the details. Weirdly comforting. “I guess you’re kind of right.”
“What happened?”
“I told him about Sawyer and me kissing.”
Chey turned pale under her makeup, her black-lined eyes widening. “You and Sawyer kissed?”
Zoey nodded. Chey looked more shocked than Zoey expected. Chey barely knew Zoey, and she didn’t know Sawyer at all, did she?
But the pain in Zoey’s chest eased a little. Talking did help.
Zoey opened her mouth, ready to spill all the details and drama, whether Chey wanted to hear or not. But Brandon began to speak, so she closed her mouth. After class she’d confess everything. Maybe then the ache would ease even more. And she could talk to Chey because she was new and didn’t have prejudices about Zoey or Justin.
Zoey rehearsed the conversation in her mind while Brandon spoke, and as soon as the dismissal bell rang and she and Chey walked out of the youth room, Zoey picked up the conversation as if class had never interrupted. “He said it was a mistake.”
“Who did?” Chey gave Zoey a blank look, like their earlier conversation had been forgotten.
“Sawyer. After we kissed, he went home, and then he texted me and asked me to forget it had ever happened.” Zoey kept her voice flat, like the words had no meaning, like she could fool herself into not hurting. “I should’ve listened.”
“When was that?” Chey sounded breathless, almost scared. Which made no sense. Probably Zoey’s imagination.
“A week ago. The night before my first concert with Aurora Fire.”
“Oh.”
“I told Justin because I felt so guilty. I thought I might feel better if I wasn’t keeping secrets.” Zoey’s voice shook. So much for the words having no meaning. But these words meant everything. This part she needed to tell someone, but someone who didn’t know Justin’s perfection and wouldn’t judge Zoey’s stupidity. “Then I realized I’m not sure I love Justin anymore.”
“Do you like Sawyer?”
“I don’t know.” Zoey stopped in the hall outside the almost empty foyer. Singing drifted from the sanctuary. “I’d never kissed any other guy before Justin.” And she wasn’t sure she regretted the kiss. The timing, yes. But the kiss? “Sorry to unload on you like that, but thanks for listening.” Zoey glanced into the sanctuary. She didn’t deserve to walk in there with all the holy people. Maybe she should go hide in the bathroom until the service ended.
Zoey looked back at Chey, trying to interpret the look on her face. Not quite sympathy. Definitely not judgment. More like she understood. And Zoey really needed someone who understood. “Want to come over to my house after church? I promise not to whine about breaking up with Justin all afternoon. But if you’re busy, that’s OK.”
Chey snorted. “I’m not busy anymore.”
“But you were?”
“Ironically, I was going over to Sawyer’s. But that’s not happening now.”
“Wait.” Zoey grabbed Chey’s arm. Had Zoey just unloaded her cheating heart on Sawyer’s new friend? So much for making Chey her new friend. “Sawyer invited you over?”
Chey nodded.
“How do you even know each other?”
“We met at that devo Thursday night, and yesterday we ran into each other at the music store downtown, and then we got pizza.”
Was Chey telling the truth? Who had invited who? Sawyer didn’t have any friends besides Justin. Not even like-the-online-post friends. And forget about a girlfriend. Of course, if Sawyer was into Chey, then he wasn’t into Zoey.
Which in a weird way might un-complicate things. Or at least make it clear how Sawyer felt about the kiss. Zoey couldn’t deny that the kiss was good. Really good. But she wasn’t so sure about a relationship with Sawyer.
“You should go,” Zoey blurted out before she started second-guessing and decided to keep Sawyer to herself until she figured out her own feelings.
Chey returned Zoey’s crazy stare. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Sawyer doesn’t like girls.”
Chey frowned.
“That came ou
t wrong. I mean, Sawyer scares girls off. He’s never had a girlfriend. I think he only put up with me because of band practice. If he got pizza with you and invited you over...well, you have to go.”
“I don’t think so.” Disgust hung heavily on Chey’s tone.
“You have to.” If Zoey’s confession ruined whatever Sawyer wanted with Chey...Zoey couldn’t handle more guilt.
“Two minutes ago you said you might like him. I don’t want to get involved in that.”
“But he doesn’t like me.” As Zoey spoke the words, she realized the truth. Sawyer could’ve talked to Zoey or invited her to hang out after the kiss. But he hadn’t. “If I’d known you liked him—”
“I don’t know the guy well enough to like him.”
Zoey cocked her head and narrowed her eyes, not sure she believed Chey. “If I knew you two were hanging out, I wouldn’t have said that. Seriously, Chey, promise me you’ll go.”
“I’m not interested in hanging out with some guy who doesn’t know what—or who—he wants.” The diamond stud under Chey’s lip wiggled.
“Trust me, if he’s asking you to hang out, he wants you. He’s never invited me over or anywhere else.” A new ache formed in Zoey’s chest, but this one felt less like pain or guilt and more like regret.
Chey took a deep breath, and for a second, Zoey was certain Chey would say no. “OK, I’ll go.”
“Good.” Zoey forced excitement into her voice, but without much effort. If Sawyer had found a girl he wanted to hang out with, then Zoey wouldn’t be tempted to jump from Justin to Sawyer. She could figure out what she really wanted. Or who.
Did she regret breaking up with Justin? Kissing Sawyer? Or did she regret what feelings she didn’t have for either of them?
29
Caution, Dangerous Curves Ahead
Sawyer stepped out of the bathroom, his tee clinging to his still-damp skin.
“You got big plans today or something?” Mom asked. She sat cross-legged on the couch, scooping yogurt into her mouth.
