by J. Lynn
Might make me a bad person but I sort of hoped the same thing.
Brock hung out to the end of the shift and the boys walked me out to my car. There was still no sign of Reece, not a single missed call or text. The hurting I’d been carrying with me during the twenty-four hours turned to bitter-tasting panic.
Before everything had gone to shit Tuesday morning, he’d told me he wanted to have lunch and when he left, he said we were okay and that he would call. A tiny part of me was holding out for Thursday afternoon.
Reece would call. We would have lunch. He wasn’t a dick. Never had been, so I knew he wouldn’t bail on me like that.
The street outside the Victorian was quiet and there was a chill in the night air as I walked up the pathway to the porch. I could almost feel autumn, and it wasn’t too far away. After such a long and hot summer, I couldn’t wait for pumpkin spice and mums.
Opening the door, I stepped inside my dark apartment and closed the door behind me. I don’t know why, but as soon as the lock clicked into place, goose bumps raced over my flesh. Icy fingers trailed down my spine, and I froze as I stared in the dark recesses of my apartment.
The distinct feeling of not being alone surrounded me. Tiny hairs rose all over my body. My chest rose and fell rapidly as I stood there. Maybe I should’ve said something to the guys about the weird stuff happening in my apartment. If I had, they would’ve demanded to come home with me, but it had seemed too foolish to mention, too weird and unexplainable.
Now, I thought I might have a heart attack.
Blindly, I reached out, my fingers brushing the shade of the lamp before finding the tiny switch. I flipped the light on and a soft glow spread across the living room, but the shadows seemed to have darkened everywhere else.
Reaching into my purse, I wrapped my hand around my cell phone and pulled it out. I quietly inched forward, placing my purse on the recliner. Holding on to my phone, I went into the kitchen, turning on lights.
Nothing out of place.
As I opened up the dishwasher, half expecting to find a bra-and-panty set stuffed in there, my breath hitched in my throat as my ears strained to hear sound.
Something—something came from the back of the house, where my bedrooms were. The sound of a door shutting softly? I wasn’t sure.
I spun around, heart racing. Fear tiptoed over my skin. Had I heard a door closing? Or was it just my imagination? At this point, I couldn’t be sure, but I grabbed a huge-ass psycho butcher knife out of its block.
Taking a deep breath, I made my way through the entire apartment. Nothing was out of the ordinary, no doors open when they shouldn’t be or vice versa, and with all the lights on, even the bathroom’s, I plopped down on the bed, sighing.
I really needed to go to the local church and order an exorcism.
Glancing down at the scary knife I still held, I sat it on the bed beside me and then I looked at the phone. I could totally text Reece. Tell him I thought I heard something in my apartment. He would come over, and it wouldn’t be a lie, but . . .
But it wouldn’t be right.
That . . . that was like reaching a whole new level of desperation, and I wasn’t to that point. Yet.
I didn’t get much sleep. Weirded out by the way my apartment felt when I entered and everything else that had been going on, I woke up every hour until the sun rose and then I finally gave up.
At the butt crack of dawn, I found myself in my studio. The Jackson Square painting forgotten, I stared at a blank piece of canvas and then I grabbed my paintbrush. There wasn’t any thought behind what I was doing. My hand had a mind of its own. I was on autopilot. Hours passed, and my back and neck ached from sitting so long in virtually the same position.
Rubbing the cramp in my lower back, I leaned back in the stool. I tilted my head to the side and muttered, “Fuck me.”
The background of the painting was the robin’s egg blue of my kitchen walls and the bright white of the cabinets. No big deal there, but it was what was in the center of the painting that made me want to get a lobotomy.
The skin tone had been hard to capture, mixing browns and pinks and yellows together until I got as close as I could to the golden tone. The shoulders had been easy to shape on the canvas, but shading the contoured muscles had been the hardest. My wrist didn’t appreciate all the hard work it had taken to get the right curve of his spine, the corded muscles on either side. The black pants had been the easiest.
I’d painted Reece like I had seen him in the kitchen Tuesday morning.
Squeezing my eyes shut, it did nothing to ease the burn in my eyes or stop the tears from building. Frustration rose in me. I knew without looking at my phone that it was past ten in the morning. That knowledge made my chest ache and my stomach feel wrong, like I’d eaten too much.
I couldn’t wait any longer. I’d waited two days.
Dropping the paintbrush on the stand, I hopped up and went to my phone. Without thinking too much about it, without stressing myself out any longer, I typed Reece a quick text.
I miss you.
God, that was so bizarrely true. I went almost a year not speaking to him and I had missed him during that time, but that want had been cloaked in bitterness and anger. With that gone, all that remained was how much I missed him.
I deleted that and typed Are we still on for today?
Then I also backspaced the mother out of that and finally settled on Hey.
Bringing my phone into the bedroom, I took a quick shower and blow-dried my hair. I even curled lazy waves into it and put makeup on so I’d be ready just in case . . .
Then I paced my living room and kitchen, too wired to sit down, and with each passing minute, that frustration and panic pecked away at me.
Twelve o’clock dragged into one and then two and when I had only thirty minutes left to get ready for my shift at Mona’s and there was no text or call, that teeny, tiny spark of hope that I’d been holding close to my heart extinguished.
Reece had lied to me.
For the first time since I’d known him, he had lied to me. Because I knew in that moment, he wasn’t going to call me. Everything between us wasn’t okay.
Chapter 16
Making your bed and lying in it was probably one of the worst things ever. I hated that stupid saying with the fierceness of a thousand burning suns, but it was true. When you were disappointed or saddened by something you had no control over, it was easier to let it go, but when it was something that you did to yourself, it was so much harder to deal with.
And this mess with Reece was my fault. Sure, it took two to tango, and it took one to get plastered, but it was me who hid the truth of the night a year ago. I’d betrayed his trust. To some it might not be seen as a big deal, but it was to Reece. Honesty was everything to him.
Katie stopped by during my shift Thursday night, right before I took my break. One look at me, and she knew what was up. Or maybe it was her super-stripper powers.
Grabbing a basket of fries from the kitchen, we hid out in the office. She hoisted herself up onto Jax’s desk, which made me smile in spite of how crappy I felt. Her dress, if one could call the shirt a dress, did not cover her ass when she sat down.
“Tell me everything,” she ordered, holding the basket of fries.
I sat beside her and told her what went down. Trusting Katie, I gave her all the details. Well, I didn’t go into that much detail about how I was gripping the headboard Tuesday morning. That wasn’t a necessary part of the convo.
When I was finished, Katie had already consumed half of the fries. “Honey buns, here’s the thing. There’s a whole lot of could’ve and should’ve that has gone on. You can’t change the past, and let’s be honest, you didn’t drown a kitten.”
I made a face.
“Stop beating yourself up over it. You know you did wrong. You apologi
zed and you meant it.” Handing over the basket, she hopped off the desk and stood in front of me, hands on her hips. “If he can’t get over that, then he’s truly not worth your time. And I mean that in the most non cliché way possible.”
I popped the last fry in my mouth and then placed the basket aside. “I know, but I like him—”
“You love him,” she corrected, throwing herself on the leather couch against the wall.
Rolling my eyes, I waved my hand dismissively even though my heart turned over heavily. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Why else have you been crying since Tuesday if you don’t love him?”
I cut her a narrowed look. “Because I like him a lot. I’ve liked him for a long time. And we were friends and now it’s ruined. And I haven’t been crying since Tuesday.” At her look of doubt, I scowled. “Not the entire time.”
She arched a blond brow. “Okay. First thing you need to do is stop lying to yourself. Just admit that you’ve been in love with him for ages. There’s nothing wrong with that.” When I opened my mouth, she raised a hand. “Secondly, fuck him. Not literally, unless he comes around, but like I said, if he doesn’t get over this, it’s on him, not you.”
Nodding, I tucked my hair back behind my ears as I slipped off the desk. I got what she was saying.
“Calla and Teresa are coming up next weekend. The four of us need to get together and get shitfaced,” she announced, rising from the couch like a goddess who was summoned. “Like, we need to get stupid drunk, talk about how stupid boys are, and then wake up wishing we never see another bottle of liquor.”
“Okay,” I mumbled.
“Like as drunk as the night before Calla left us,” she continued, and I cringed, knowing where she was heading with this. “Remember? You were convinced that one of those plastic closet organizers could hold your weight?”
“It did hold my weight,” I said crossly.
She threw her head back and hooted with laughter. “Yeah, for like thirty seconds. You shoved yourself in that damn thing, with your legs touching your chest.”
“You zipped me up!”
“And that thing broke and I thought you broke your ass.”
I thought I broke my ass. So did Calla and Teresa, which reminded me of how grateful I was that I hadn’t broken anything, because none of the girls could stop laughing long enough to make sure I was even alive.
Fucking tequila.
Katie bounced forward and hugged me, squeezing me so tight I thought I’d pop. “It’ll be okay. He’s going to come around.”
I hugged her back. “You think this or are your superpowers telling you this?”
She giggled as she pulled away. “Call it feminine intuition.”
I cocked a brow. “Really?”
“Yep.” Katie flounced to the door. “I’ve got to go drop it like it’s hot, and yes, this is hot.” Smacking her ass, she laughed. “Peace out, homie homes.”
A smile pulled at my lips. Katie was . . . she was different and she was awesome. Straightening my glasses, I told myself not to do it, but before I left the room, I grabbed my purse out of the cabinet and pulled out my phone.
The small smile faded from my lips. There was a missed text, but it was from Dean, and seeing it really knocked my feet out from under me. Besides the fact that the last time we spoke, I’d hung up on him, it was the same message I’d sent Reece earlier and had received no response from.
Hey.
I let out a shaky breath as sadness swelled. Holy crap, I was the female version of Dean right now, texting someone who was so not interested. Had he stressed over that text as much as I had? He’d probably gone through three different versions before settling on the innocuous greeting. Seeing that truly was a kick to the chest. My heart ached.
Slipping the phone into the back pocket of my jeans, I swallowed the cluster of tears that were threatening to turn me into a fat, angry baby. I needed to pull it together. I made this mess. Reece made his decision. Contrary to what Katie believed, I wasn’t in love with him.
I hadn’t fallen that far for him.
I hadn’t fallen for anyone that hard and I never would.
Friday afternoon, I wasn’t thinking about Reece at all. A different kind of problem had surfaced, a far more serious one than my relationship or lack thereof.
Nurse Venter stood beside me, at the foot of Charlie’s bed, her face contorted in a sympathetic expression that really did reach her tired eyes. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
Afraid to speak, all I could do was nod. She left the room, quietly closing the door behind her, and I was stuck standing. It was like someone had pressed the pause button on life.
Charlie was back on the feeding tube.
I wanted to close my eyes, but what was the point? It didn’t change what I was seeing. It wouldn’t undo anything. When I opened them up, Charlie would still be in the same position. His life would not somehow rewind.
The pale lilac comforter was tucked up to Charlie’s slender chest, hiding everything from the shoulders down, but I knew that his hands were restrained under the blanket, secured to the bed.
I hated that, absolutely loathed that he was tied up. It seemed too inhumane and cruel even though I knew there was a valid reason for it. The moment the feeding tube was hooked up, he’d started pulling at it. They did this for his own good, but it still hurt to see it.
I forced myself to the chair next to his bed and sat stiffly, placing the tote beside me. Reaching out, I found his hand under the blanket and folded both of mine over his. “Charlie,” I whispered. “What are we going to do?”
Charlie’s eyes were open, and I wished they were closed, because there was something wrong with them. They were dull, absolutely lifeless. I would’ve thought he was a mannequin if it wasn’t for the occasional blink or tremor that coursed down his arm.
Fear clawed at me as I stared at him. Oh God, he didn’t look good. I couldn’t remember him ever looking this frail and sallow before.
Minutes ticked by and the only sound was the chirping of birds outside the window and the low hum of conversation from other rooms. There was a ball of cold dread sitting in the center of my chest as I sat there. This . . . this reminded me of my grandfather who’d been sick and in hospice care before passing away. I was a little girl then, but I remembered my mom sitting at a bed just like this, holding my grandfather’s hand and whispering to him while he slept so deeply I couldn’t remember seeing his chest move.
This felt like that, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were not alone in this room. That there was a third entity, and it was death.
Scooting as close as I could get to the bed, I closed my eyes and rested my head on the pillow next to his. “I miss you so much,” I whispered thickly. “I know you know that.”
Tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes as I tightened my hold on the blanket and his hand. Who knew I could still cry so easily after the week I had? Maybe I was turning into an emotional mess. At this moment, I didn’t care. The turmoil I felt over Reece was nothing in comparison to how I felt now. I wanted to crawl in bed with him, but I was afraid of disturbing his feeding tube.
I knew that I needed to act like nothing was wrong. I needed to pull out one of the paintings I brought in for him—one that I had done weeks ago, and I needed to read to him. That was the normalcy of our visits. I liked to think both of us needed that.
But as I lay there, all I could think was about the span of minutes that had changed everything for Charlie, for me. No matter how many years had passed, it still felt like yesterday.
It was Friday night, a few weeks after school had started and the only reason why I was at the football game was because Colton was playing, which meant Reece was there, in the stands, watching his older brother play.
Charlie and I made our fifth or sixth pass
in front of the section of bleachers Reece was sitting at with his friends. “Man, I think you qualify as a stalker now, just so you know.”
I bumped him with my hip. “It’s the okay kind of stalking.”
He sent me a sideways look. “When is stalking okay?”
“When it involves Reece Anders,” I quipped, giggling when Charlie rolled his eyes. “Oh whatever, you think he’s hot, too.”
“Can’t deny that.” He glanced over his shoulder, back toward where Reece sat, and then quickly faced forward. “He’s looking down here.”
“What?” I shrieked as I stumbled over my own feet. I sent him a wide-eyed look. “You’re lying.”
Charlie grinned at me. “No, I’m not. Look for yourself, but try not to be so freaking obvious.”
“How do you not be obvious?” I muttered, but as I took another step, I made a causal attempt at looking over my shoulder. My gaze found Reece immediately, like I was some kind of hot-boy-seeking missile.
Reece was staring down at us—at me. And he was smiling. He had the best smile. Wide. Friendly. Uninhibited. My heart kicked around in my chest as I started to smile back.
“Oh,” Charlie said. “My bad.”
At first I didn’t get what Charlie was talking about, but then a high-pitched shout whipped my head around.
One of the cheerleaders had shouted Reece’s name. Rising up on the tips of her white sneakers, she blew him a kiss. My stomach dropped all the way to the tips of my toes. I looked at Charlie.
He cringed.
Reece wasn’t staring at me. He wasn’t smiling at me. How embarrassing. Sighing, I picked up my pace. “Are you ready to go?”
“I’ve been ready to leave since we got here,” he retorted. “But you had to get your stalking out of your system. And look what happened? No good comes from stalking, Roxy.”
“I hate you.”
He laughed as he draped his arm over my shoulders, tugging me against his side. “Come on. Let’s head back to my place. Parents are still at the lake house and I found the key to the liquor cabinet again.”
