For The One

by Brenna Aubrey

  "Like what? My life hasn't ended. I've seen other guys."

  "Yes, how is that going with the new one? Douglas, right?"

  I grimaced, aware that this would only serve to reinforce her argument. "I broke up with Doug last weekend."

  "Hmm," she said, her gaze on me sharpening. Heat rose to my cheeks. It was like she and Alex were psychically connected. "Braco wasn't perfect. You just remember him that way."

  I swallowed, my throat suddenly clogged. Helena watched me as I blinked my tears away. "I know he wasn't perfect. He was just--"

  "Perfect for you, I know. But you were both children. How do you know you wouldn't have grown apart as you grew up? Jenna...he wouldn't want you ending your life when his ended. I say this bluntly because I'm talking to a girl who I've thought of as my adopted daughter for ten years now."

  I reached over and covered Helena's hand with mine. "Thank you. I understand what you're trying to do."

  "Then you must listen to me. Somewhere out there, there is someone for you. This belief you have of one true soulmate...it's not true. It can't be."

  I shook my head, unable to give her words credence. "So you don't think Vuk is your soulmate?"

  "No, I don't. He's my friend and my lover and my partner, but there is no soulmate."

  "You think you could be just as happy with someone else as you are with him?"

  She shrugged. "Maybe even happier. Maybe somewhere out there is a Vuk who doesn't leave his socks all over the floor or likes to do the dishes once in a while. Or who can dance." At that, we both laughed.

  We turned down dessert when the waiter returned and Helena asked for the bill. As always, I wished I were in a position to offer to pay, vowing that someday I'd take her out to a nice eatery and proudly pay the bill myself.

  After driving me back to the apartment, Helena gave me a long hug and called me srce moje, which meant, "my heart." A name a mother called her child. She held me tight, and when I pulled away, she clamped on tighter.

  "For me, Janja, and for him. Fall in love again. You must free yourself before it will even be possible."

  I kissed her cheeks, not allowing my tears to fall until she turned away. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I couldn't allow it--that it wasn't only myself I was protecting, but those around me. Too many of my relationships had ended with people being hurt or even killed.

  I was a wanderer, never meant to set down roots. I'd been torn from my home soil at the tender age of five and had been drifting ever since. In so many ways, it was my destiny.

  Chapter 8

  William

  It's Monday morning again, and I'm at my desk working on the three-dimensional rendering--again. Mostly I'm checking the work of artists under me, but I'm also cleaning up details and fine-tuning textures. Many have called it tedious, but I enjoy focusing my attention on minutia.

  Especially today. I've been unable to think of anything besides Jenna since the moment I kissed her--and she kissed me back.

  I spent hours last night thinking about that kiss. I couldn't sleep. I could only remember the way our mouths fused together, the feeling of her body pressed against mine. Now I try to force that image out of my mind as I adjust my goggles. There are lots of things to do today. Things that don't involve my fixation on Jenna.

  And just like the previous Monday, I'm aware of someone standing at my desk. But unlike Jordan, there is no waiting until I'm done with what I'm working on before he speaks.

  "Liam," my cousin says. I should have realized it was him when my nearby coworkers all went silent. Adam doesn't appear in the art department very often, and though our office is pretty casual, people still get intimidated by the CEO showing up unannounced.

  Sometimes I do too, even though I was the one always picking up his shorts off the bathroom floor throughout our adolescence. He also ate up all my favorite breakfast cereal on a consistent basis. In fact, Adam annoyed me greatly when he first came to live with us. Fortunately, it didn't take long for that to change.

  I straighten and look at him. "What?"

  "I need you for a sec. Let's take a walk."

  Let's take a walk. That's his favorite way to have a short, discreet conversation with an employee. There may even be a meme of it floating around here somewhere. Or a funny little cartoon drawing of my cousin standing at some employee's desk asking to take a walk.

  When Adam wants to take a walk, it's usually not a good thing. It is a logical way to get some privacy in an open-concept office, I suppose. But if Adam needs to speak to me, he knows exactly where I live and is well acquainted with my phone number, too.

  Without a word, I save and close my work, remove my glasses and set up my desk so that it's perfectly arranged for me to pick up where I left off after the lunch break. I trail behind him off the floor of the art department, ignoring the gazes following us. None of them will dare to ask me the details later, so I ignore them.

  We're walking down a back hall on the way to R&D when he stops for a minute and turns to me. "I don't have a lot of time, but I needed to have a quick conversation with you. Whatever the hell is going on between you and Jordan needs to stop."

  I fold my arms across my chest and he seems to take great interest in that gesture. "Nothing's going on between me and him."

  "That's not a good thing. I get that he pissed you off. He pisses me off a lot, too, but he's your friend. He's my friend, and most importantly, he's your boss."

  I shrug. "So are you."

  His eyes look up at the ceiling, then fly back down. "Yeah, we're family. That's different. We're stuck with each other, and if we ever did get like that, your dad would probably kick both our asses. Jordan is a good guy. He screwed up, but he genuinely feels bad about it. And I can't have another feud going on in my office, Liam."

  He's referring to the dispute I had with Gene, a former co-director in the art department. We had artistic differences, and apparently those differences had been broadcast everywhere. We'd both been branded the "temperamental artists" by employees in other departments.

  Things had been okay until the day that he blatantly took credit for my work. From then on, I refused to work with or even speak to him. Adam tried to do what he could to resolve the issue, but in the end, Gene found a job somewhere else. Adam ended up admitting that it was no great loss to have him gone.

  "Look, you need to learn to separate the professional from the personal." Adam straightened. "Jordan didn't fuck you over--"

  "He did. He gave me bad advice."

  Adam took a long breath and released it. "But it was you who chose to take that advice. You need to work on what it means to forgive someone. In the end, this hard-ass attitude is only going to cost you, not others."

  "My ass is not hard."

  Adam looked away and laughed. "No, I mean...look, I love you, guy, but you do have a problem with this. In all the years that I've known you, you've never been the forgiving sort."

  "Why should I be? If someone ruins their chance with me, then that's it. They're gone. I don't need people like that in my life."

  Adam was rubbing the back of his neck now and looking down the hall in both directions. "So people can't be human and screw up? If they make a mistake, they're dead to you forever?"

  I shake my head. "I'm not going to kill anyone."

  "It's an idiom, Liam. It means you'll act like they are dead even if they aren't. You'll sever your relationship with them? It was one thing when it was Gene. He proved that he had no morals whatsoever and ended up going somewhere else--win-win for us. But that's not happening with Jordan, okay? He's not going anywhere, and you have to learn to get along with him."

  When I say nothing, he sighs and looks at his watch. "I have to get going for a lunch meeting off campus, but dude, think about this. What if your first duel had been your only chance to beat that other guy? You got your second chance--give one to Jordan. That's all I'm asking."

  I thought about that for a moment. "I did."

 
He frowns. "You did? What do you mean?"

  "I told him that he could make it up to me by helping me train against a left-hander."

  Adam's expression changed. "That's great." He smiled. "You've made me happy."

  I frown. "I wasn't doing it to make you happy, but I'm glad you are. I just hope Jordan comes to the training or else it will be like he's dead to me."

  "I'll make sure he does. I'll come too."

  "Good," I say. "I don't have as long to prepare this time."

  Adam nods. "We'll help you all we can, and just...think about this, all right? Sometimes the moral high ground isn't always the best place to stake your claim."

  "Huh?" I say, completely confused. Was he even speaking English? All I can picture is a bunch of gold miners rushing around driving stakes into high, hilly ground.

  He sighs. "I just mean that being stubborn and holding onto grudges isn't always the best way to go. But I can sit here and explain that to you until I'm blue in the face and you probably won't listen. Maybe when you get into a relationship, you'll figure it out. Or else you're just going to be lonely, because no one is perfect."

  Perhaps he is referring to himself and Mia. They were far from perfect and had broken up several times before finally ending up happy together. Maybe those are the chances he's referring to. Did he have to forgive her for something, or did she have to forgive him?

  Or maybe it was both? It makes me wonder if getting into a relationship means learning new things about yourself. And making changes. I don't like changes.

  I mull over those thoughts as I finish up my workday. On the way home, I stop by a fruit stand. It's strawberry season in Southern California and the stands are everywhere, selling them freshly picked and packed in large boxes. They're dark red and almost the size of small apples. I end up buying a full box, even though I know I can't eat them all before they go bad. So I stop by my dad's house to leave some with him and his wife, Kim.

  I ring the doorbell and enter, like I always do, and Kim comes around the corner. "Liam!" she says. It didn't take long before she picked up the habit from all of my other family members to call me by that nickname. Kim has been my stepmom for only a short time now--almost nine and a half months. And the fact that she is Mia's mom makes Mia my stepsister.

  "I brought strawberries." Because I know she's going to invite me to eat dinner with them--she always does--I add, "But I can't stay long--"

  "Yes, it's Monday. I understand...your workout routine. That's okay, but at least wait to say 'hi' to your dad. He just got home a few minutes before you pulled in."

  After he's changed his clothes, Dad comes out and we talk for a few minutes. They thank me for the strawberries before I take my leave, mentioning that I'm already off my schedule. Fortunately, they know me well enough to not push it.

  I'm almost out the door when I stop suddenly. It's seconds after I've passed through the front hall, but something has jumped out at me. Something is different. I turn around and move back to where I saw it... and there it is.

  A newly framed painting is hanging in the hallway. My throat is inexplicably tight. So tight I can't swallow.

  "What is it?" my dad asks. Kim quickly excuses herself, and I'm so stunned I can't tell her goodbye.

  "That picture. Where did you get it?"

  There's a long pause. My dad doesn't say anything. I turn back to study the art. I'm very familiar with it. I produced it when I was fourteen years old. It's a black line drawing with watercolor wash, a medium I haven't used in at least four years. It shows an autumn scene in the hills out by the historic town of Julian. They hold an annual apple festival there, and I'd visited the area shortly before painting this.

  But I threw it away years ago. There was too much anger and pain associated with it. My fists tighten at my sides as I replay the scene in my mind. I can see every vivid detail and feel every feeling, including the cold anger and the hurt. Returning to my room after having been called into the kitchen to speak on the phone with my mother. Her excuses--there were always excuses--as to why we wouldn't go out to dinner, as she'd previously planned.

  I'd grabbed that picture--intended as a gift for her--and shoved it in the trashcan. I didn't cry. And I refused every invitation to see her after that.

  "Well?" I ask between clenched teeth.

  "I have a big folder of your artwork, and I was showing it to Kim. She loved this and wanted to frame it and show it off in our front hallway."

  "But I threw this away," I say quietly, glancing at him out of the side of my eye.

  "Liam," Dad says.

  I turn to him and he's not looking at my face. That's good, because I don't want him to see me like this, and I sure as hell don't want to look in his eyes while he lies to me.

  "I threw this away, Dad. What is it doing on your wall?"

  He takes in a deep breath and lets it go. "I saved it from your trash can. It was too beautiful to throw away."

  I blink, confused. Not because he dug it out of the trash, but because I'm not sure how I feel. That hurt and anger are back, fresh as ever, resentment toward a mother who never cared enough. Those feelings are mixed with frustration and also admiration toward a father who cared almost too much.

  "Does it bother you?" Dad's question interrupts my jumbled thoughts. "Kim really loved it. In fact, she loves all of your art."

  My stepmother loves what my mother never saw. Never cared to see. I take a deep breath, and suddenly Dad's hand is on my shoulder. "Liam."

  I stiffen. "I gotta go. I'm already thirty-eight minutes off my schedule."

  His hand slides off. "Okay, son. Love you."

  This time I don't recite the words back to him like I usually do. Instead, I say, "Goodbye."

  As I go about my workout routine--putting extra vigor into it to make up for the lost time and as an escape vent for these confusing feelings--I think about the things that have happened today. Specifically, Adam's words about forgiveness and letting go. Later that night when Dad texts to ask me if I'm okay, I answer that I am and that he should keep the picture hanging on the wall.

  Chapter 9

  Jenna

  Early on Saturday morning, I made it to the cemetery as promised. Alex was kind enough to lend me her car, but because I didn't want to leave her stranded at home all day, I left at the asscrack of dawn.

  I didn't have money for a professional bouquet, so I'd spent some time on a sunset walk the night before picking wildflowers along the side of the road. As I did so, I indulged in memories I usually preferred to keep buried...our first date, our first kiss. The time he spent all his savings from his part-time job at the pizza shop to take me out on a special date and buy me a necklace for our anniversary. I still had that necklace, though the clasp had broken and I couldn't wear it anymore.

  I'd tied up the wildflowers with a pretty ribbon and took them with me to Brock's grave. There, I removed the wilted bouquet that Helena had set there the week before and replaced it with my fresh bundle.

  I passed an hour in quiet contemplation before speaking out loud. Sometimes I did this--and not just when I was at his graveside. If anyone ever overheard me, they'd think I was insane for talking to my dead boyfriend. But I liked to think that, wherever he was, he could hear me. That he could still feel our connection the way I felt it. That he'd know that I missed him.

  Indulging myself in self-pity, I cursed what a rotten fate it was to find your soulmate at a young age and then have your time together cut tragically short. I lamented having to live an entire lifetime with him only as a memory, and I mourned the fact that the closest I could get to Brock was a plaque in a green lawn where I lay flowers every so often.

  My thoughts drifted to last night, when I did a Tarot reading for myself. I'd wanted to confirm that I was making the right decision by leaving to travel with the Faire at the end of June.

  I drew the Fool. How appropriate. How me.

  Not because I was foolish, but because of what the Fool represented--a wandere
r, an adventurer. A person who listened to the wind and did not set down roots in any one place.

  The card showed a man with his possessions in a bag over his shoulder, looking up toward the radiant sun. He was stepping precariously near the edge of a cliff, a happy dog clipping at his heels. Ready to start a brand new adventure.

  I felt that also and tried to ignore any of the other pangs at the back of my mind--the thought of leaving Alex, my other friends. And for some reason, William and his surprising lips had popped up, too, before I'd forced the memory of our kiss from my mind.

  But as I drove home, my mind kept returning to it--the feel of William's hands in my hair as they pressed against the back of my head, the way my body had heated instantly from the contact. I couldn't not think about it.

  With a sigh of frustration, I turned on one of my favorite mythology podcasts to listen to on the way home.

  A few hours later, I sat at the dining room table pouring over my daily calendar, making a to-do list for the week and checking my appointments. Despite my hesitation to get too close to William, I was determined to get that tiara back. Thus, I was figuring out when I could sandwich in more time to help him with his crowd problems. If I'd been highly motivated to get it back before, I was even more determined now that Helena had made a flight to Serbia possible.

  Alex sank down in a chair opposite me and plopped a foil container of food in front of my face. The delicious aroma of Lupe's enchiladas swirled around my nose.

  "Lunchtime. Eat up, girlfriend. I invited some of the gang tonight and we're watchin' Doctor Who and drinkin' tequila."

  In spite of the siren's song--otherwise known as Alex's mom's wonderful food--I glanced over my daily agenda again. 7 p.m. - William: visualization & breathing practice.

  "I'm supposed to have William over this evening."

  Her eyebrows rose. "Fun. He'll know everyone. Heath, Kat, Mia and Adam, and some of their work friends are coming over, too."

  I forked a bite straight from the tin--meaty, cheesy goodness exploded on my tongue and my stomach rumbled for more. "So that's why you were cleaning like a madwoman when I got home. Again. I thought you'd lost your mind."