The Choices We Make (Relentless Book 4)

by Barbara C. Doyle

  The two little pink lines I saw this morning changes everything.

  Throat tight with nerves, I walk inside and give a small wave to Roy. He smiles at me as I walk over to Bash, sliding into my usual seat. He plays with the rim of the ceramic cup in front of him, eyes darting up before going back down to the table.

  He is nervous.

  Taking a shaky breath, I say, “Bash,” the same time he says, “I have something to tell you.”

  We stare at each other. I wet my dry lips before gnawing on the inside of my cheek. My fingers slip into my lap so he can’t see them shaking

  Can he hear my heartbeat like I can?

  “You first,” I tell him.

  He nods. “It’s exciting news.”

  I perk up in my chair. “What?”

  He gives me a timid smile, but there’s a light in his eyes that make them shine a warm shade of milk chocolate. His mom’s do the same when she has good news.

  “A producer saw a video put on YouTube from our last performance at Marty’s bar, and wants to sign us.”

  My eyes widen. “Oh my god, really?”

  He beams.

  “Bash, that’s amazing!” I squeal, jumping up and wrapping my arms around him. All the tension in my shoulders ease just seeing how excited he is over this.

  But his shoulders are still tense with me wrapped around them, so I draw back with a frown on my face.

  “Why aren’t you happy?”

  His lips twitch. “I’m really happy.” He doesn’t sound it. “It’s exactly what we’ve worked for, you know? All of the practices and shows have paid off. The producer wants us to open for other bands, and eventually work toward recording our first EP.”

  “Have you signed anything yet?”

  He shook his head. “Our parents are going to have their lawyers look at the contract. But from what they’ve said, it looks legit. It would be good for us. We’d travel, make some money, get our name out there, and gather a fan base. We did it, Opal. We’re getting our shot.”

  My lips form a tight smile. Everything I’ve watched them go through is paying off.

  “You’re going on tour,” I say quietly.

  “Not a tour. Not really.”

  I shrug. “But you’ll be gone?”

  Bash took extra classes to graduate a year early with Ian, Dylan, and Ben. He’s free to live his dreams while I’m stuck here for at least the next few months.

  “Yeah,” he admits, rubbing his arm. “If we sign we’ll be doing shows to get some exposure. We’ll have shirts and merchandise of our own.”

  I nod along. “That’s great, Bash. Really.”

  He averts his eyes, they dart around the room like he’s fighting with himself.

  Tell him your news, a tiny voice pesters.

  I don’t.

  “You’re not telling me something,” I force myself to say, knowing him. He gets dodgy when he’s afraid of something, which isn’t often. Bash is stronger than both of us combined.

  “It’s hard, Opal,” he murmurs, finally looking at me with glassy eyes. “I can make something of myself—make Mom proud. And you, too.”

  “You already make me proud.”

  He sighs. “I know. But … I think I can be something big. Relentless can be the next big thing. The producer said so. He’s got somebody interested in managing us from Indie Mass World Records. It’s a newer label, but they’ve already got a lot of exposure.”

  I sink in my seat. He’s trying to convince me of something I already know is a good thing. Regardless of how I feel, how I want him here, this is his dream.

  “You guys all deserve this,” I tell him quietly.

  He smiles. “You think?”

  I manage to roll my eyes. “Duh. You fill up Marty’s when you play. The street and sidewalk are full when you practice at Ian’s place. You don’t need to talk me into doing this. You’d be an idiot not to take the opportunity.”

  I expect him to brighten at that, like he needed my permission somehow. But there’s more than that washing his features. It’s carved in the weight of his lips—the curve of his shoulders.

  “I’ll be gone a while, Opal.”

  Slowly, I nod.

  Just say it, Bash.

  “I don’t think this will work out.”

  My heart cracks in two, and rather than it feeling like the worst pain in my life, there’s only numbness. And that may be worse, not feeling anything at all.

  I hiccup like I always do when nerves build in my stomach. “We t-talked about this, though. After I graduate, I’ll be there for you and—”

  “I don’t want you to be, Opal.”

  His words completely shut me down.

  He pushes his coffee away from him. “I know you wanted to be part of this. And it isn’t like we expected anybody to be interested so soon. I mean, we thought we’d have more time to prepare. But if we don’t take this opportunity now, we may not get another chance.”

  My hands are shaking uncontrollably in my lap. “Stop it! You don’t have to tell me how big this is for you. Do you really think I don’t know that? I’ve always wanted you to be happy and successful, and I am happy for you. But we said we’d do this together, Sebastian. You said we’d always have each other.”

  “I know—”

  “Do you?” I sniff back tears. I peer down at the ring hugging my finger. “You gave me this ring and said we’d have a someday. Did you mean it? Because if you did, you’re breaking that. You’re giving up on that now.”

  “I …” He can’t look at me. “I just think it’s better for both of us. I don’t know where this will lead. We could get more shows and recording an album will keep us busy. We’d have to be at the studio and practice all the time. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

  Under the table, I palm my still flat stomach.

  I open my mouth to tell him my news but can’t get the words out. They’re stuck in the back of my throat, clinging to me. If I tell him, he might think it’s my way of getting him to stay. Or worse, he’ll stay because he thinks he has to.

  My hand drops defeatedly to my lap. Eyes blinking back tears that stick to my lashes, I force myself to peer at his face. He has the nerve to look guilty.

  “You don’t get to look like that,” I rasp, pushing my chair away from the table. “I’m the one who gets to be hurt, Sebastian. You’re breaking up with me. You’re the one who is making this decision.”

  “I know. I’m—”

  “No!” I stand up. “Don’t say anything. You’ve said everything that needs to be said, right? You’re leaving, and you’re breaking your promises. Y-you don’t love me. You don’t want me. I get it.”

  His face twists with pain, but I don’t let it soak in. Not when my hurt is ten times deeper. My pain will last a lifetime when I walk out of that door, immortalizing itself into a form that will forever carry half of him.

  He stands, too, when I begin backing away.

  I eye him hard, feeling a type of anger I haven’t felt before. Not when Dad would scream at Mom or me for doing something wrong, or when he raised a hand at one of us in a fit.

  Never did I feel this before.

  Love did that to you. Destroyed you.

  It proved how much my father didn’t love me, or me him. Because maybe I would have cared more by his actions if we shared that connection, that bond.

  Bash was the one with the power to obliterate me.

  And today, he did.

  I don’t shed one tear inside of that café. No matter how badly I want to. Not when Bash calls my name, or when Roy steps around the counter toward us.

  Bash may be the one ending it, but I’m going to be the one to walk away. It’ll be my control. My choice.

  Part of me hopes he’ll chase after me, but relief fills me when he doesn’t. My feet guide me to the park, next to the willow tree in the center. My hands graze our carved initials, and that’s when the tears flood my face, causing the letters to blur.

  My hands press
against my stomach.

  I’m desperate to be rid of the tears, wiping my face until my skin is raw from the scratchy material of my jacket sleeves.

  The back of my head scrapes against the rough bark as I look up at the clouds. It’s only four in the afternoon, but I pretend there are stars littering the sky. Like the nights Bash and I sneak out of my bedroom window.

  Bash told me once he told the stars all his secrets. This will be my secret with them.

  The breeze picks up, drying the remainder of my heartbreak. “You’re going to be a daddy, Bash,” I whisper.

  The wind dies.

  Just like a tiny part of me.

  December is a blur of snow flurries, leaving half of the town cooped up inside while the other is playing in the fresh coat of snow. Addy is no exception, dragging Opal and I out anytime there’s enough white stuff blanketing the ground to make snow angels or build snowmen.

  Every time we go out, just the three of us, I get a taste of what life could have been like had I not left all those years ago. We play, laugh, tease, and pick on one another. We throw snowballs, build snow forts, make half-zombie looking snowmen that never resemble Olaf. Only when we’re sopping wet and freezing, Opal forces us inside to drink hot chocolate, which I only drink because our daughter wants me to. I’m not a fan of the little marshmallows and warm chocolate.

  We’ve fallen into a routine, spending time together whenever we can. It isn’t just Addy and me watching movies, eating a meal as a family at least twice a week, going out to some town event so Addy can make pottery, painting, or running around with other town kids. No, Opal joins us for almost every occasion.

  And so many times I’ve seen Noah’s name pop up on Opal’s screen while I’m with her. She never answers, leaving me with more questions than answers at this point.

  My chest tightens in some unspoken anticipation that it means something for us. Because she could leave the room and talk to him, but she doesn’t. She settles in next to Addy, or sometimes me, and finishes the movie, the meal, anything, rather than stopping family time for him.

  It’s why I find myself out of bed in the middle of the night, walking over to café. I know it isn’t open, and that Addy is in bed. Hell, Opal may not even be up. But I also know that there’s a fire escape on the back of the building that leads to each of the apartments.

  And before I can really question myself, I start climbing the one that leads to Opal’s, listening to the thin layer of packed snow crunch beneath my boots.

  It means something, I chant to myself, seeing the soft glow of light coming from her bedroom window. Déjà vu hits me the closer I get to the top. It’s a somber feeling, not to hear the subtle groans from tree branches like I was accustomed to after years of climbing into her childhood bedroom window.

  My knuckles wrap against her window once, twice, then a third time. It’s cold out, and I’m not wearing a jacket. Hell, I had only slipped on a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt before sliding into my boots and making my way here.

  I kept thinking about the ignored calls and texts from Noah, until my mind couldn’t take the what-ifs anymore.

  It’s been months since I’ve been back to Clinton. Opal doesn’t flinch or hesitate whenever I’m around. The guarded gaze in her silver eyes has disappeared whenever I bring up old memories. She doesn’t seem to be scared letting Addy stay with me, or even flinch when Addy asked if I could spend the night at their place. On the couch, of course, but Opal didn’t mind. She’d even insisted since there was a mild storm brewing over the hills.

  The fact that she’s used to me being around says more than her words ever have, and the way her eyes watch me reminds me of how we were before. We’re aware of each other, unafraid, just living life like there was never a break in time.

  We’re a family.

  Opal’s form takes shape in the shadows of the night, her face carved with sunken exhaustion. Her grey eyes are dark, weighed with dark purple and blue bags underneath. Her lips curve downward when she sees my silhouette standing on her fire escape.

  There’s no contemplation flashing in her eyes, no lulling her movements. She slides the window open, staring at me with her lips parted.

  “G-glad you let me in,” I chatter, giving her my best grin despite my quivering jaw.

  Her eyes dance over my poor excuse of winter wear with a slightly raised brow.

  She steps aside and gestures for me to climb in, taking ahold of my arm as I climb over the high window pane. “You know there’s a front door, right?”

  “That I can’t get to,” I remind her. “Plus, it’s late. I didn’t want to wake Addison. I really wanted to see you.”

  As soon as I’m in she closes the window behind me, hugging herself for warmth.

  I grab a knit blanket from the end of her bed and drape it over her shoulders. The blanket looks familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen it before.

  “Your mom made it,” she tells me, seemingly reading my mind.

  Of course. Knitting was Mom’s therapy. She tried teaching me how to once, but I didn’t have the patience. She saw my hobbies rested in plucking Dad’s old acoustic guitar he’d left behind.

  “For the record, I’m glad you had her.”

  I talked to Mom not long after Opal had admitted she lived with her, and I was so grateful. Mom always loved Opal like she was one of her own, and it made me happy she had somewhere loving to find solace.

  I saw the sadness in her eyes when she told me about Noah and Roy’s ploy to get Opal into the apartment above the café. I can tell she wanted them to live with her, where she could have watched Addison grow. But she understood. I guess when Noah and Addy became closer, she saw her and Opal’s relationship slip. Who wanted to live with their ex’s mother? It made sense for her to find her own place.

  “Me too,” she replies softly.

  We stand in a comfortable silence. It gives me time to scope out her room, dimly lit by the lamp by her bed and the moon peeking in through her curtains.

  “Your room is blue,” I blurt stupidly.

  A ghost smile tugs at her lips, remembering the significance. The eleven-year-old version of her wanted a blue bedroom, not the pink one she’d been given. Her father told her blue was a boys color, so she never gathered enough courage to change it.

  My eyes take in the photos of Addy. Some are of her at birthday parties, at school, playing in the leaves. Others are of Opal wrapped around her, smiling the brightest smile I’ve ever seen.

  My girls.

  There’s one photo that catches my eye. Resting on the corner of the dresser, It’s Opal and Noah from the semi-formal he’d taken her to back in high school. Opal in her blue dress with a hand on Noah’s chest, and Noah with an arm wrapped around her waist.

  When did they take a picture together?

  Opal walks up beside me. “We figured it’d be a good idea to have proof we were together. You know, in case Dad questioned it.”

  Her and I had taken a few pictures together, too, but there was something different about this one. Maybe it was the way Noah’s body was angled toward her, or how his hand rested on her hip like he was drawing her in. She didn’t seem uncomfortable. She looked happy.

  And Noah? He looked like he won the lottery.

  I breathe out a dry laugh. “I should have seen it before, I guess. He was always there, always helping you out.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “He helped us both out that night.”

  “He liked you.”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “Feel kind of stupid for not seeing it,” I admit, eyes glued to the photo. “Ian even mentioned something similar. Cracking jokes about him stealing you away, but Noah always made it seem like he wasn’t being serious.”

  “Does it really matter?” she doubts.

  “You were with him,” I whisper pointedly. “I say it matters.”

  We stand like that for a long moment.

  Opal’s voice breaks my inspection
of the other pictures. None of us from the past or present. “What did you want, Bash? It’s almost one in the morning.”

  My eyes roam to the door by her bed. I gesture toward it in question. “What’s that?”

  She stares dubiously. “My closet?”

  I grin. “Perfect.”

  She’s surprised when I pull her along with me, opening the door and walking in. It’s small, packed with clothes, shoes, and random boxes. But I make space and sit down, gently tugging her with me.

  “Bash—”

  “Closets are our thing, remember?” I shrug, a smile playing on my lips. “Well, janitor closets, but this will do. Figured I’d keep tradition alive.”

  She shifts the blanket so it’s looser, and she can turn to face me. “Traditions?” she repeats.

  “I think we should play a round of truths,” I state, taking in a deep breath. “Where better to do that than the place we always seem to share our firsts?”

  Well, not every first. But the ones that always seemed to jumpstart the levels of our relationship. Becoming friends, best friends, our first kiss. All in closets.

  Her grip tightens on the edge of the blanket, her nerves showing in her eyes. “O-okay.”

  I angle my body, so our knees are touching, and her eyes trail to them. “Truth. We’re not meant to hate each other, not even when our hearts scream at us after everything that’s happened. People like you and me, we’re not capable of that kind of hate.”

  She curls her knees into her chest so we’re no longer touching. “People like us?”

  “Soulmates.”

  “Bash,” she croaks, going still.

  I stare out of the closet, taking in the blue walls littered with missed memories and empty promises. These could have been our walls. Our memories.

  “But the biggest truth,” I continue, ignoring her shaken expression, “is that soulmates can change.”

  Stealing a glance at her, she blinks.

  “Ours did. Our souls … they’re dancing still. Connected. Combined. They’ve become bigger, stronger, absorbed in the purest kind of love. Our souls became Addison Marie.”

  She chokes out a sob as tears prickle her eyes. Sniffling, she brushes the backs of her hands against her damp cheeks.