Walking Heartbreak

by Sunniva Dee

  I just screamed my heart out at the love of my life, and I hurt so bad. I’m furious, my cracked-open heart destroying me, and though I’ll regret it later, I shoot the simple, gold band through the room and watch it ricochet off the wall and bounce in short, metallic clangs against the ceramic.

  “Your. Fault! Help me, baby. Help me.”

  Jude doesn’t come in.

  The phone. The goddamn phone. That’s work buzzing me, and I’m supposed to be there. As I get ready, putting makeup on in the mirror, hyperventilating, drinking cold, thick coffee from the machine, I calm down enough to seem coherent.

  “Remember? Everyone came. Full-on party, it was. Flowers everywhere, no surface spared. Your parents, all of your best friends from San Francisco from before you moved to Payne Point—people I hadn’t even heard of came. Your high school buds from Payne Point, hey, even the cheerleader that liked you so much. My family didn’t come, of course, but everyone else wore their most expensive, most beautiful clothes as they entered ‘The Garden.’

  “I did too. I wore the red, silk-like dress. Remember how I surprised you with it when we got engaged on our way to Vegas before the wedding? Thanks to Mother’s rules, you hadn’t seen me in anything like it before. We’d escaped my family’s claws. Love won!”

  I pull open the bottom drawer. Haul the blow dryer out and stare at my reflection. I wet my hair down and blow from the top, smoothing it down so it’s as flat as it can go despite its natural texture with the waves trying to break through.

  “The outfit you wore, amidst the beautiful decorations in ‘The Garden,’ was the most gorgeous suit I’ve ever seen you in. Better than what we hastily rented in Vegas before Beauty hauled you inside the church and the Beast grabbed my hand for you and plopped it in yours for holy matrimony.”

  I shove my feet into my work shoes. Take steps that are too long to be comfortable toward the door. I need to get out, away, be done with this. As I turn, a faded flicker of light at the far end of our hallway catches my attention, but it disappears before I can register what it is.

  “I gotta go. Someone’s got to work, Jude. Just, you need to know how much you suck. Everyone was there, dressed to a T, loving you. And you?

  “I don’t want to remember your face, because it was just a salt-stone non-expression. Never, never, never had you done this to me. Okay, I’m not dumb. I get why, but… How could that expression accompany the best suit of your life? We were all there for you, and you—

  “The lack of emotion in every limb of your body… damn you, Jude!”

  I lock the door behind me and start down the narrow driveway. Then I turn and scream back at our windows. “Thanks for screwing me over!”

  NADIA

  It’s easy to forget my outburst in the stacks of cups, tourists, dirty plates, spoons, and the napkins stuck to the restaurant floor. I can do this. Two hours into work, I’m having one of my better days. The owner, Scott, nudges my side and winks conspiratorially at me, wanting me to know he’s got my back. He’s a sweetie. Around fifty, not yet obese but getting there, his bluish nose a reminder of steady alcohol abuse.

  “Good job, Nadia. The customers like you,” he reminds me. Since I started here, he’s been my cheerleader. Zoe’s original impression was that he liked me too much, but in the years I’ve worked at the diner, he has never eyed me in an uncomfortable way. I think he just wants the best for me.

  “They love your food is all,” I reply, making him chuckle happily. Scott’s Diner is not only his livelihood. It’s his life. Scott’s regulars become his friends, and he’s as much in the kitchen whipping up food as the cooks.

  The bell jangles over the door. It’s four thirty, late for the lunch crowd, but the group entering takes my breath away. I don’t need to see perky Zoe in the front troupe to recognize them. No, these boys are their own sort of recognizable.

  Somehow they stand side by side inside the narrow entrance. Four guys, the same height, broad shoulders and slender build. They’re different shades of color, from Troy’s gorgeous chocolate, via Emil’s sun-kissed Scandinavian and Bo’s indoor artist pale, to Elias’ ghostly white. Every one of them with model-worthy features and different degrees of smoldering. What the heck are they doing here? Emil’s eyes burn against Zoe’s bottom. Elias’ milky blues scan the locale and briefly settle on a booth with four girls in their early twenties, whose skin color chessboard-matches Elias’. Troy, the drummer, seems to be the only one intent on food. Because Bo—

  Is staring at me.

  Oh Lord.

  With Zoe being off and Victoria on break, I’m the only waitress on the floor. Victoria will be back in fifteen, I tell myself for no reason because no restaurant would wait to seat a party of five when there are ten booths open.

  Zoe leaps in to hug me. Over her shoulder, Bo’s eyes remain fixed on me. It’s odd, so odd to see him at my job. We know each other in a different way.

  I’ve had Bo’s arms around me. His body against mine. He moved inside me, I—I’ve heard him sigh out in pleasure, and now he’s just standing there. Customers pass him like it’s no big deal that he’s in here.

  My cheeks flame.

  Bo folds his arms over his chest, the angles of broad, bony shoulders making him look impervious to American food and oversized portions. The man is startlingly gorgeous, and my stare is glued to him.

  My heart shoots into a crazy flight. I try to breathe inside Zoe’s embrace while she chatters about super sexy songs, about intercourse, wild boys, Emil, even something about Bo and me.

  I finally break free of her. Striding toward the restroom, I call out for Scott to seat them. He nods and gives me a thumbs-up, but I know he expects me to take their orders once I’m back. At least take care of their beverages, I plead inwardly.

  I’m not a big drinker, but now I wish I had a flask of something strong hidden in the bathroom. I lock the door behind me and hang over the sink, palms pushing down against the porcelain. What did I think would happen? That I’d never see him again? Zoe has a crush on Emil, and they live five minutes from my job! It’s a miracle I haven’t seen them in here before. I lift my gaze and find myself in the mirror.

  “Nadia. You okay?” Zoe calls from outside.

  “Yeah, be right there.”

  Half an hour ago, I gathered my hair in a loose ponytail. Now I pull the hairband out and shake my head carefully so it doesn’t poof up. Brown kohl still lines my eyes. I’m not wearing lipstick, so I bite my lips to force some color back into them. Then I blush, realizing that I’m primping for Bo.

  Crap. Crap. Crap.

  I’m so confused right now.

  I draw in a deep breath before I leave the restroom. Zoe has seated them herself. I can tell because she chose her favorite, ten-person booth with the great view of the street.

  The guys are chatting quietly among themselves, Troy writing something out on a napkin with Elias nodding his approval. Bo isn’t paying attention. He’s leaned back against the faux-leather upholstery at the center of the booth, his eyes twinkling from beneath his bangs as he follows my progress toward them. I swallow, sensing the blush creep up my throat.

  “Hi, guys,” I say, clicking my pen open over my order pad. If I can slide back into my waitressing mode, I’ll be fine. “Good to see you. What’re you having today?”

  “Nadia!” Emil calls out like we’re best friends. He nudges Zoe in against his side, and she grins, charmed. “How’ve you been? Why didn’t you come to the movies with us the other night? T’was a good movie. Something about a, um...”

  “A boxer who needed to win a championship to get the girl,” Zoe helps. “It was romantic. Nadia knows. I’ve told her about it.”

  “No.” Emil shakes his head. “T’was more of a cool movie. That was some bad-ass boxing.” He juts his chin at Bo. “Remember all the blood in that last scene? Whoosh! And sex. Geez, but it too
k the poor guy forever to get laid.”

  The good thing about Emil and Zoe together is that I don’t have to say much; Emil put me on the spot for exactly two seconds before they went out on a tangent about a completely different subject. Sometimes I wish I could do that. Switch gears on a whim and just… snap out of things.

  “How are you?” Bo’s voice is much lower than the others’, but I still hear him better and it spreads instant heat in my abdomen.

  “Good,” I manage. “Working. Busy, you know.”

  “Right,” he says. “When are you off?”

  I’m too stunned to lie. “Eight.”

  “Plans after?”

  “Well, no but—”

  “Is he waiting for you?” His eyes gleam as they glide down to my left hand. On impulse, I hide it behind my back.

  “Sort of,” I reply at the same time Zoe murmurs, “He never does.”

  Bo sits forward in the seat, elbows on the tabletop, and it feels like we’re inches apart instead of on opposite sides. His intensity eats up the space around us, and I’m not the only one feeling it. Besides Zoe’s input, our exchange has been so quiet it’s almost a whisper, and yet the conversation dies out among the others. That includes a few regulars at the bar.

  “Can I pick you up?”

  “I’m eating here,” I blurt out clumsily.

  Calmly, he negotiates with me. “Then we won’t eat. I’ll take you somewhere else. The boardwalk?”

  “I. Um. I mean… no.”

  Even Emil turns his head to look at Bo. “Bowling?” he cuts in, and that breaks the silence around the table.

  “Hell yeah,” Troy laughs. “Bo sucks at bowling. Let’s do it!”

  “Fuck,” Bo mutters and sinks his forehead into a hand. The smirk lifting his mouth isn’t lost on me—it makes my heart skip; I’m affected by every little thing he does, it seems, and it’s both delightful and painful.

  “Are we talking similar to his kite-flying skills?” I can’t help asking, which sets Emil and Elias off into guffaws.

  “Yes! He’s one for the books. Ah you’ve got to see this, Nadia. Sorry to say, you might not like him anymore after,” Emil says, drying an eye, and then I blush again because—really, that’s how obvious I am? Anyone, even egocentric Emil notices.

  Thankfully, no one comments on my general state of flustered. Bo keeps an eye on me though while I take their orders. Thank you God they’re straightforward: burgers and fries all around.

  “Eight o’clock,” Bo reminds me as I walk away with their orders.

  “Eight,” he whispers playfully every time I come by to refill their drinks. When they get up to leave, with Zoe wrapped around Emil’s throat and half-carried out onto the sidewalk, Bo turns in the doorway to give me one last mouthed Eight, and I smile.

  I smile!

  BO

  Girls jump my cock whenever I allow it—I’m used to giving and taking what I want. They hunt me down before shows, after shows, even in bars and in back alleys. They’re creative too, good at making me curious. It’s the rocker thing: chicks dig it. All I need is to lean back and watch. But here I am now, in this situation where I’m chasing a married woman—even though I’ve already had her. It’s absurd.

  I know who I am and what I’m capable of. Those bedroom eyes from the audience? They get to my wang, but they don’t get to me.

  Nadia showing up at our last show made me ponder my relationship with my ex again. Year after year, Ingela looked at me with adoration in her eyes, while I, no matter how deep I searched, found nothing in my black, selfish soul. Over and over I hurt her because I couldn’t fake what I didn’t have—a goddamn heart. It’s why I stare out over the masses in arenas without the awe Emil’s face sometimes reveals.

  I told Nadia that night; people don’t do it for me—music does. Just another way of being emotionally stumped, I guess. I haven’t looked into it closely enough to diagnose my condition, but I know I’m not a sociopath. Not a psychopath. Definitely not asexual—hell, sex is the only way I make a woman happy.

  At the last thought, my mind returns to Nadia, and my dick twitches. Sex with her was insane. Not since I last slept with my ex over a year ago have I had sex that good. I was so turned on I couldn’t think straight.

  It’s weird, because she wasn’t trying to blow my mind. There’ve been acrobatics involved throughout our tours—overflow Luminessence groupies with a limberness beyond anyone’s fantasies and swallowing techniques that can blow a guy’s mind. None of that came close to the simple, real, understated sex with Nadia.

  The scent of her hair, the flower perfume or soap or whatever she’d used. Then the secret aroma of her pussy. It called to me, I swear. Great, and now I’m rock hard again.

  Because I like her, the situation with her husband is starting to piss me off. Nadia is young. She’s wasting her life on some asshole who doesn’t appreciate her. She’s miserable, and you don’t need to be a rocket scientist to get that it’s his fault.

  I’ve been that guy. In my case, at least I never married the girl, and I made love to her as often as she needed it. In my defense, I tried. I really tried to make it work.

  From Nadia’s reaction to my slightest touch, I’d say she hadn’t been fucked in a while, and that’s just wrong. If she doesn’t turn him on, then her husband must be stumped.

  And seriously: what kind of douchebag doesn’t care enough to call his wife when she hasn’t returned from a concert at nine—the morning after?

  Yeah, me chasing this particular married woman might not be so absurd. If she’s game, I’ll brighten her day again. Make her understand how beautiful she is, how easy it is for her to make a guy feel horny as shit.

  Hell, this is me paying back karma over Ingela. Right—good. That’s why I’m picking Nadia up from the restaurant right now.

  “Hey,” she murmurs timidly. She’s still wearing her apron and tugs to get it off.

  “Hey,” I reply, the grin growing on my face. She’s tired, but she must have done something to her face and hair, because the redness in her eyes is the only thing giving her away.

  “I like your lips,” I say, because I do. I shrug inwardly. I’m not a blurt-out kind of dude, but I guess that one escaped. She flushes immediately, which doesn’t help my already aroused state, and I hear myself say, “Screw bowling. Want to go to my place?”

  She gasps like I’m being indecent. Which, to be fair, I am.

  “No, I mean, we can pick up a movie.”

  Smooth, Bo.

  “What movie?” she asks, and I feel like she’s buying time. Then she hurries on, not waiting for my reply, “No, I’d like to watch you bowl.”

  And so we go. I take her to the bowling hall and struggle through a few hours of Emil’s inane chuckling and Elias’ chicken dance whenever he gets a good score. Troy discretely kicks everyone’s ass, whooshing his ball down the lane like a pro.

  Turns out Troy was a pro for a year, and his father owns a bowling hall. Sadly for us, he collects his winnings before he reveals this. How did I not know that about him? Nadia was the one asking—I never even thought of it. We all put too much money into the bets too, so here we go, shoveling out green to Troy yet again. I’m amazed at his financial astuteness. It almost rivals his drummer talent.

  “Just for five minutes?” Zoe bats her lashes to her friend, who looks uncomfortable.

  “I need to go home to Jude,” Nadia mumbles.

  Zoe’s reaction is interesting. Her eyes flare with anger, her hands actually fisting at her sides, and when she opens her mouth, it’s like she’s trying out words first, censoring herself before she selects the few clipped ones she uses. “No, you do not.”

  Nadia has responded to my charm before, so I turn it on. With my arms folded, I nudge her with my elbow and go, “Nadia, the ice cream Emil and Zoe bought the other night? Is stil
l in the freezer. Shh,” I add, tip my head in against hers, and glance around us surreptitiously. “It’s calling your name.”

  “Yeah, dude!” Emil exclaims, pointing at Nadia, probably worried that Zoe will leave with her if she doesn’t come along. Everything Emil does is for Emil.

  “Do you work tomorrow?”

  “I have a full-time job, yes,” Nadia says.

  “Early?” I insist.

  “No, late shift.”

  “So that decides it. Let’s get going before the ice cream melts.”

  Nadia’s lips are a plump, succulent red, and now she can’t stop them from stretching. Shit, she’s sweet when she smiles. “Melting in the freezer, huh?”

  “Probably. Thinking of you.”

  Out in the parking lot, I glimpse her face. She’s bright red. Maybe at my last flirty comment? Damn, I feel young—puberty-raging-hormones young. I’m thinking it could be uncomfortable to spend a lot of time with her if the night doesn’t go the way I want.

  Once we pull up to our place, Emil and Zoe spill out of the backseat and head upstairs without waiting. From inside, Zoe’s halfhearted call, “Nadia, let me know if you need me, just—um, knock on Emil’s door,” reaches us.

  I look at Nadia, really look, under the porch light. She doesn’t meet my gaze. I brush hair away from her face and tilt her chin so I can study her. She doesn’t object, but her lashes flutter low enough to conceal her eyes.

  I curl my hand, using the backside of it to touch her cheek. Move it down slowly until I reach her throat. “Do you want to come upstairs?” I ask quietly. “I’d like you to. Very much.”

  I’m not making up stories now. Her throat lifts and sinks as she swallows, struggling with herself. She understands that what I’m implying is not ice cream on separate chairs in front of the TV.

  She doesn’t reply, so I grab her hand and take the first steps. She hesitates, but then comes along, her grip in mine tightening. And damn if that doesn’t make my bloodstream come alive. It rushes through me, pumping fast in anticipation.