Fortitude Smashed

by Taylor Brooke

Aiden walked toward the center of the bar, eyeing Daisy as he went. “Fine,” he said, and helped a group of customers that bellied up to the bar for 101’s terrible signature cocktail.

  00:00

  Shannon took Chelsea to the Whitehouse, a safe restaurant that was half-bar, half-eatery. There was no confusing it for something romantic, he hoped, and Aiden was aware it was a place Shannon went with his friends—Karman’s favorite bar, Shannon’s favorite appetizer specials, an easy, familiar place and a Laguna Beach staple. Chelsea would enjoy the laid-back, chic atmosphere.

  They sat on the restaurant side in a small booth by the window. Chelsea smiled, glancing at the menu. Her hair was arranged in a fancy braid, and she wore a gold necklace he recognized from their childhood. Looking at it, a locket strung around her throat, made Shannon think of all the times he’d caught her reapplying makeup on their cheesy teenage dates. Even now, years later, it looked like a noose.

  “Are you getting excited about your month?” Shannon asked.

  “Oh, no, I’m terrified,” she sang, grinning at her hands folded neatly on top of the menu. “I don’t know what I’m doin’ here, but it was better than bein’ there. I don’t know what to expect, and I hate not knowing. What was it like for you? Making yourself love him, how’d you do it?”

  “I didn’t,” Shannon bit. “Loving him just happened.”

  Shannon’s lungs fluttered and tightened. He hadn’t told anyone that. Not even Karman. Shannon was suddenly aware of every move he made, every scratch of his nail against the frayed edge of the menu, every clink of the ice cubes in his glass of water. It was such a strange thing, hearing it out loud. He steadied his breathing, glanced up, and met Chelsea’s ever-knowing smirk.

  “So, you do love him. How?”

  “You know, you two are a lot alike. I have a type: blunt and cruel.”

  Chelsea shrugged, batted her lashes, and waited.

  “I didn’t…” Shannon paused as the waiter stopped by their table. They ordered a platter of fried seafood to start. Chelsea asked about every salad until she narrowed her decision to a classic Caesar, and Shannon ordered linguini.

  Chelsea resumed her patient stare, twirling her straw with two fingers.

  “I didn’t make myself love him, it just happened that way. I knew it would, but I didn’t know when, and I haven’t told him yet. You can’t say anything, Chelsea. You can’t use this as ammo in an argument you two get into, you hear me? I’ll never forgive you if you do.”

  “Who says we’ll get into an argument?”

  Shannon narrowed his eyes.

  “I wouldn’t do that to you, Shannon. You may think I’m cruel, but I’m not that kind of cruel. Are you going to tell him?”

  “Yes.” Shannon winced when his voice shook. “Sometime soon, I think.”

  “How did you make it work…?”

  This, Shannon could tell, was an actual question. Chelsea’s voice had lowered into something weak, and she pulled her hands into her lap, hiding her nervousness. She stared at the table, thanked the waiter when he served their appetizer, and cleared her throat.

  “I mean no offense, so don’t get all mad, but you two aren’t the typical couple. He’s not… He’s not what I thought you’d ever want, but somehow you love him. How’d you do it?”

  “You keep asking me how, and I don’t have an answer, Chels.” Shannon laughed. “I always thought the Clock would give me someone safe, someone predictable. Aiden is… He’s always there, whether he’s in the back of my mind, or sleeping next to me. Things changed when I met him, I stopped thinking about my life and I started thinking about his, and now all I can think about is our life. If we’ll have one, if we’re building one together, what will happen if I ever lose him. And…” Shannon huffed. “You’ve seen him, right?”

  Chelsea wore her wounds as badges, and Shannon realized as soon as he’d asked that he’d wounded her. She cut a piece of fried shrimp and dipped it into spicy garlic sauce. She chewed slowly, giving ample time for Shannon to digest what he’d said.

  “I meant to ask, did you go on dates? Did you communicate properly? Was there ever a time you had to figure out a problem together? How did you introduce each other to your families? You know—normal things. But I’m glad he makes your world spin the right way, sweetie.”

  Shannon’s cheeks burnt. His lips pinched together. “We’re still working on our communication. We’re not… Karman says we’re more physical than emotional, I guess she’s kind of right.”

  The waiter set their entrees in front of them.

  Shannon hadn’t imagined dinner conversation with Chelsea going in as many different directions as it was. He hadn’t expected her to ask about Aiden, since she clearly wasn’t fond of him, and he hadn’t expected her to question the Clock. She’d always said she’d let it happen the way it was supposed to, but that was when she’d tried to convince both Shannon and herself that they were destined to be together.

  Aiden had thrown a wrench in her plan, and Shannon could see the gears turning as she tried to put together a new one.

  “I know what we can do,” Chelsea winked, and Shannon instantly regretted agreeing to dinner, because that was a typical Chelsea Cavanaugh gesture, one that said she had a proposition she wasn’t going to let him get out of. “I bought two tickets to the Camellia Clock Preparation Panel at a convention in Los Angeles on March first, and I think you should go with me. They’ll have all kinds of information, advice, how to’s, support groups—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Shannon Wurther, you’re goin’.”

  “I am not goin’ to some ridiculous Clock convention, Chelsea.” Shannon’s eyes squeezed shut. Georgia drawl swam in his throat.

  “You are goin’! You’re goin’, and it’s gonna be fun.” She jabbed her finger at him. “And you’re gonna be my emotional support,” another jab, “and I’m gonna forgive you for sleeping with your boyfriend in my bed at my own party.” Her lips pinched together.

  Shannon opened his mouth, but stayed silent.

  She leaned across the table and whispered, “How’s that?”

  Shannon’s mouth quivered. He fumed, but there was nothing to say. This wasn’t a battle he was going to win, not by a long shot.

  “Mmhm,” Chelsea hummed, drizzling dressing on her salad. She raised her brows; a pleased smile curled her lips. “That’s what I thought.”

  33

  Shannon endured Aiden and Daisy’s cackling on Monday, Karman’s constant research about the convention on Tuesday, and Chelsea’s nonsensical positivity on Wednesday. Throughout the rest of February, he tried to keep the topic of the convention from passing between him and Aiden, but Aiden’s teasing was relentless.

  On Saturday, Shannon wove through the bustling crowd of convention-goers with Chelsea by his side. The Los Angeles Convention Center was a sea of future Rose Roads, all disconnected, wandering between panels, taking notes in journals, and scoping the exhibitor hall.

  After they spent far too long in the exhibitor section, Chelsea dragged him to the Preparation Panel.

  “This is what I came for,” she whispered.

  Shannon nodded. The lights dimmed.

  “Just to be ready, you know?”

  Shannon nodded again. Chelsea Cavanaugh might have been the only person Shannon knew who was more self-aware than he was. Not only did she pick apart her faults with distinct precision, but she constructed intricate plans to fix herself, whether she needed fixing or not. Like Shannon, who rehearsed even the simplest statements before they left his mouth, Chelsea was a creature constructed of many possibilities. Unlike Shannon who broke them down, Chelsea swallowed them whole.

  A woman walked across the stage; her fiery red hair was distinct against the blue backdrop. She wore a simple black dress and smiled behind a cordless microphone. He recognized her from somewhere, TV p
robably, and wasn’t interested in a word she had to say.

  “Margot,” Chelsea whispered in Shannon’s ear. “She’s the leading couple’s counselor for Rose Road management. You remember her, right? She’s written five books and had that television special on Fox last year.”

  Shannon nodded. No, he didn’t remember and he didn’t care, but Chelsea wouldn’t want to hear that. He pulled out his phone midway through Margot’s speech, typed a message, and hit send. Aiden replied immediately.

  Shannon Wurther 3/1 2:34 p.m.

  what are you doing?

  Aiden sent a picture of his running shoes.

  Shannon Wurther 3/1 2:35 p.m.

  talk to me im bored

  Aiden Maar 3/1 2:36 p.m.

  I was busy being fit and healthy

  Shannon Wurther 3/1 2:36 p.m.

  send me another picture

  Aiden sent a picture of his bare foot.

  Shannon Wurther 3/1 2:38 p.m.

  ew put that away

  Aiden sent a picture of his bare upper half.

  Shannon Wurther 3/1 2:40 p.m.

  :)

  Aiden Maar 3/1 2:41 p.m.

  go speed date

  Shannon Wurther 3/1 2:43 p.m.

  no

  Aiden Maar 3/1 2:45 p.m.

  im going for a run

  Shannon Wurther 3/1 2:46 p.m.

  no

  Aiden Maar 3/1 2:47 p.m.

  Yes

  Shannon shoved his phone in his pocket and glanced at Chelsea. She was transfixed, gaze pinned to Margot. She drew in a slow breath, listening as Margot explained, in vague but exuberant details, the keys to walking a Rose Road without tripping.

  “In most cases, the Camellia Clock will make the correct decision. By most cases, I mean ninety-eight percent of them. That’s a big percentage, and it’s the reason we, as a community, keep using the Camellia Clock today.” Margot paused to allow for applause.

  Chelsea clapped politely. Shannon did not.

  “Divorce rates have declined exponentially.”

  More applause.

  “Families are staying together, guided by energy,” Margot held out her arms, “by fate.”

  Applause, and cheers, and whistles. Shannon rolled his eyes.

  “It goes without question that fate can change, but it isn’t typical, not in the slightest. One in ten thousand Clocks will speed up, changing the original data collected at the time of birth, one in ten thousand will slow down, and, in the rarest cases, Clocks that have timed out once may start counting again. A restarting timer is one in a million.”

  Shannon thought of Karman, and he hoped.

  “Timers can go off for couples; they can go off for triads, too, and even quartets. But what happens after the Clock stops? That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?”

  Chelsea nodded. Shannon couldn’t tell if she’d blinked.

  “A Rose Road is a beautiful, blooming flower. It needs care. It needs patience and room to grow, but if you give it what it needs, something precious will take root. Several different things can happen, the first being abrupt confusion; that’s the typical response.”

  True, Shannon thought.

  “The second being resentment. You did not decide this, and sometimes our hearts and minds don’t align. Resenting each other in the beginning is also quite normal.”

  Shannon lifted a brow, intrigued.

  “Third, you both make a choice. That choice is a subconscious one. Physical…” Margot held out one hand, then the other. “Or emotional.”

  A couple people whistled.

  Margot acknowledged them with a nod and a wink. “You’ll make this decision without knowing it. From what I’ve seen, most couples start out as emotionally receptive to one another, which is extremely beneficial to establishing communication. However, physical couples tend to become closer in a shorter amount of time.”

  Shannon thought back to the Saloon. He remembered looking at Aiden, painted like the dead, dangerous and beautiful, and wondering how could he think I don’t want him? It was a sudden thing, making the conscious choice to fall into him that night, and it was strange to hear about it now.

  You’ll make the decision without knowing it.

  As if Aiden was a decision Shannon had made long before they met. The idea made sense in an eerie, uncomfortable way.

  “Statistics show that physical Rose Roads move in together quicker than their emotional counterparts, but are lacking in the communication department. Over time, these two segments of your relationship will merge,” Margot said.

  “Which one did Karman say you were again?” Chelsea whispered.

  “Physical.”

  Chelsea’s lips flattened and she dipped her chin to giggle at her lap. Chelsea had a nice laugh when it wasn’t forced.

  Margot continued. “It’s theorized that fate has a pattern. We’ve found that genetically, energy replicates again and again. Usually, the Camellia Clock will make pairings that are much like the pairings before them. A person will be paired with someone like their mother or father, brother or sister.”

  Shannon watched Chelsea’s smile fade.

  “However, that is speculative at best. Now, let’s answer some questions, shall we?”

  Chelsea stared at Margot; her lips were drawn into a frown. Shannon was reminded that Chelsea was capable of being afraid. The frown was gone before he knew it; her fear was replaced by feigned excitement, forged well enough to almost put him at ease. Almost.

  “This is something, isn’t it?” She clapped along with the crowd. “It’s nice to see all these people here, making an effort to be the best Rose they can be for their Rose Roads, you know?”

  Shannon nodded. He patted her knee, and Chelsea glanced at his hand.

  “I’m still terrified,” she admitted.

  Shannon nodded again. “Me, too.”

  00:00

  It happened again.

  The world turned, but Aiden couldn’t feel it. There were sounds, but he couldn’t hear them. He told himself to get up, to reach for his phone, to breathe, but he couldn’t. There was nothing like it—the inability to gather oxygen. Exhausted after waking, anxious, in a dark room, hoping that no one came looking for him, Aiden curled up under his comforter.

  It was too soon, he thought. April eighth was too far off to warrant such complications.

  Yet, there he was, complicated.

  The bedroom door opened. He pulled the comforter tighter around his face.

  “Nope,” Daisy chirped. “No, you’re not doing this.”

  Aiden said nothing. The energy it would take to speak wasn’t worth sparing.

  “Aiden, let me in.” She tugged at the comforter. He gripped it between his fingers until his hands shook. “Aiden Maar, you let go of this blanket. We’re going to the beach.”

  “I can’t,” Aiden said.

  He must’ve sounded weaker than he thought, because Daisy quieted. Seconds went by, all the time it took for Daisy to understand, and the bed dipped. She’d been through this with him before, so many befores that Aiden was embarrassed she had to go through it again. One arm squirmed beneath the comforter, followed by the rest of her. Daisy crowded against him, occupying the space he couldn’t find. Everything outside his body was void. The only thing he managed to do was count his breaths, one right after the other.

  “I can call Marcus,” she said gently.

  He shook his head.

  “I can call Shannon.”

  His eyes widened.

  “Can you talk?”

  He shook his head again. Talking would require movement, and if he tried to make anything except his lungs work he might suffocate.

  Daisy rested her palm on his cheek. “This is me,” she said slowly. “Daisy Yuen, I’m right here, and
so are you.”

  One breath. Two.

  “You’re Aiden Maar, and you are my best friend, and you’re going to be fine.”

  Three. A fourth.

  “It’s a Sunday afternoon in Laguna Beach, the second day in March, and it’s beautiful outside. The sun is shining. Birds are singing. You’re not dying. You’re here with me. You’re alive.”

  Five. Six. Seven.

  Daisy nodded.

  He nodded back.

  “Say your name.”

  “Aiden Maar,” he whispered.

  “Say my name.”

  “Daisy Yuen.”

  Daisy sighed, and Aiden thought it might’ve been the first sound he’d heard that day. He stopped counting his breaths and blinked, aware that his hands were occupied by Daisy’s, curled in a ball against his sternum. She gripped and he gripped back.

  “Aiden, it’s been six years,” she said. “You have to go see your doctor.”

  “It doesn’t happen often. I don’t know why it happened today.”

  “Does Shannon know?”

  “About the dysthymia, yes. About the disassociation, no.” Aiden untangled his fingers from Daisy’s and rubbed his face. “There was me before my parents died, and there’s me after. I guess this is what after looks like; can’t do anything about it except deal.”

  “What happened doesn’t define you, you know that. You’re more than a before and after.”

  Aiden pulled her against his chest, and she wrapped her arms around him. This was real. He was alive. He could breathe. “Maybe,” he said.

  “Not maybe, definitely. Can you eat?”

  “I should,” he admitted.

  “We’ll eat then. Are you ready to go outside?”

  “Yeah, just not alone.”

  “You’re not alone!” She laughed against his neck and squeezed him tighter.

  The anxiety melted, a candle burning out. “Daisy to the rescue.”

  “You don’t need rescuing. You need a Togo’s sandwich with extra avocado.”

  Feelings returned in flashes. He smiled, and there was warmth. He laughed, and it tickled his stomach. He stretched, and the world came back together, turning and turning.