Once Upon a Bad Boy--A Sometimes in Love Novel

by Melonie Johnson

  Almost everything.

  Sadie squeezed the brakes on her handlebars and wheeled around, turning her bike to face Ana’s. “Yeah.”

  “Whoa.”

  “I know.”

  Around them, other bikers zipped past. In the distance, a whistle blew, a soccer or lacrosse game starting on one of the many fields adjacent to the path.

  Wordlessly, Ana reversed directions and together they began the trek back. After a few minutes of riding in silence, she finally asked, “How is he?”

  “Good,” Sadie said, throat dry. “Really good.” He looked really good too.

  “I wouldn’t have pegged him as an actor.”

  “He’s not; he’s the stunt coordinator.”

  Ana nodded. “Now that, I can totally see.”

  “He’s in charge of all the stunts for the movie. He choreographs the fights and will be overseeing everything. Overseeing me.”

  “Are you freaking out?”

  “Yes, I’m freaking out!” The dam burst, and Sadie began to ramble. “My first call is tomorrow morning, and of course it’s for one of the fight scenes. How am I supposed to keep it together when he’ll be there—on set—babysitting me.”

  “Babysitting you?” Ana blinked.

  “It’s when a stunt coordinator watches over a scene, to make sure the actors don’t get hurt or whatever.” Sadie’s stomach twisted. “He’ll be watching everything I do.”

  “First of all, you know better than to think of it like that. He’s not watching you, he’s watching your character, your performance. Babysitting, like you said. And second…” A twinkle appeared in Ana’s emerald eyes. “Maybe this is your chance.”

  “My chance for what?” Sadie wondered. “My chance to finally find out why the guy I wanted to spend my life with dumped me without explanation?”

  “I was thinking it’s your chance to try again,” Ana mused. “It’s been ten years.”

  “Eleven,” Sadie growled, pedaling faster.

  “Eleven,” Ana amended, matching Sadie’s pace, “and now fate has brought you two back together.”

  “We are not back together.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Ana!”

  “Are you saying you don’t have feelings for him?”

  Sadie didn’t respond. She didn’t have to.

  “I know you, Sadie. I know all about your boxes. And let me tell you, you can cram your feelings into a box, slam a lid on top, and lock it up, but the stuff is still inside. Eventually, something is going to make you drop that box, busting it open. And when that happens, look out.”

  “What do you suggest I do about it?” Sadie demanded, breath coming harsher. “I can’t just wave a magic wand and poof! All my feelings disappear.”

  “Please. You know you can’t wish your feelings away.” Ana glanced over at her. “You have to deal with them.”

  Easier said than done. “How?”

  “Channel all that angsty emotional shit into this fight scene you’re so worried about.”

  “I think I like the magic wand option better,” Sadie grumbled.

  “Even fairy tales don’t work like that.” Ana laughed and took off, flying ahead as she yelled, “Race you to the van!”

  Tightening her fingers on the handlebars, wishing she could ride fast enough to escape the memories in those boxes, Sadie leaned forward and chased after her friend.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, after she’d helped Ana load the bikes back into the van and choked down a protein bar, Sadie stood in her shower, letting the hot water soak into her sore muscles. Meanwhile, Ana’s words soaked into her brain.

  Like her best friend had said, Sadie had a habit of boxing up her emotions into a dark corner. Compartmentalizing. She’d developed the trick early on in her acting career, and found it worked just as well off the stage as on. At this point in her life, shutting away problematic emotions to focus on the task at hand wasn’t just a performance trick, it was a survival tool.

  Why deal with all those messy feelings when you could ignore them?

  The urge to do it again, right now, was strong. Sadie wanted to take the joy and fear and worry and wonder and every other nuance of emotion bubbling up inside of her ever since seeing Bo and shove it in a box. Conveniently, she already had one with his name scrawled across it in big angry letters. Being near him had loosened the lid, brought things long buried to the surface.

  Sadie closed her eyes, the memory of their last night together rising like steam from her shower, enveloping her. Senior prom. The night he’d told her it was over—they were over.

  “It’s over, abeja.”

  His words ringing in her ears from across the years, Sadie’s eyes snapped open. She grabbed her loofah and began to scrub, her skin turning bright pink beneath the rough, angry strokes.

  She hadn’t been angry that night. She’d been too stunned, too confused to feel anything beyond disbelief. It had been the night of her prom, and despite his reservations, Bo had agreed to be her date. The night had been going well. The dance had been fun, and even though Bo wasn’t the biggest fan of most of her classmates, he’d seemed to enjoy himself well enough. He’d definitely enjoyed the time they’d shared in the back seat of his car between the dance and the after-party.

  Then he’d dropped her off to freshen up with her friends and went to park the car. The after-party was on a cruise ship on Lake Michigan. Sadie had stood on the gangplank, waiting for Bo, worry creeping up inside her as the minutes ticked by.

  Setting the loofah aside, she leaned her head back into the shower spray. Beads of water drummed against her shoulders, drowning out the rising thump of her heart, reminding her of the sound of Bo’s footsteps on the dock, the relief she felt when she caught the flash of his white dress shirt in the light from the streetlamps dotting the pier.

  She’d hurried toward him and reached for his hand. But when she’d grabbed his fingers, he’d winced and tried to pull away.

  Slicking her hair back, Sadie stared down at her own hands, recalling how Bo’s had looked that night. The streak of dark bruises along his knuckles. After that, she’d noticed other details too. The way his tie hung limp around his neck. One sleeve of his shirt ripped. And a dark stain on his collar.

  Blood.

  She’d demanded to know what happened, worried he’d been in a fight. But he’d shrugged her off. Sadie turned her face into the spray as the memory of what happened next washed over her. He’d told her it didn’t matter. Said they didn’t matter. And when she’d tried to reach for him again, he’d stepped back, avoiding her touch.

  With a voice like sandpaper, Bo had looked Sadie in the eyes and told her he never wanted to see her again.

  “It’s over, abeja.”

  Sadie braced her hands against the slick tiles of her shower, water streaming down her cheeks, mixing with her tears. It had been so long since she’d let herself cry over him, over them, over everything they’d lost. The memory stirred the lid on another box, one she kept hidden even deeper still—deep, deep down. Wrapped in chains, anchored to the deepest, darkest, most hidden part of her heart.

  With a vicious pull on the faucet, Sadie turned off the water and mentally resealed the lid before any tendrils of the memories trapped inside could escape, reach out, grab hold. Ana may know about Sadie’s boxes, but she didn’t know what was hidden in this particular box. Sadie had never told anyone. And she never planned to.

  No. This box would stay locked and buried. Sadie was determined to make sure it would never be opened, its contents never spilled.

  After drying off, Sadie took her time applying lotion, rubbing the cream on with slow, soothing strokes. As it soaked into her skin, a calm settled over her, emotions drifting back below the surface. She tugged on a pair of sweats and decided to spend the rest of her Sunday snuggled on the couch with some wine and cat videos.

  Wrapped in a blanket, laptop propped on her knees, Sadie sipped a glass of merlot and poked around the
internet, grinning her way through a series of clips involving cats who delight in terrorizing dogs three times their size. She clicked on the next video and gasped at the sight of a huge, shaggy Irish wolfhound.

  Flynn. Her heart squeezed. The dog in the video looked just like Flynn, the furry best friend of her childhood. Though technically her grandmother’s dog, everyone knew Flynn belonged to Sadie—or rather, they belonged to each other. Sadie had been four when Flynn was born, and from the moment puppy and girl met, a bond was formed.

  A bittersweet ache spread through her chest. The same sensation she’d felt at the end of every summer, when it was time to head back home, leaving her nana and Flynn behind. The first few years, Sadie had begged her mother to let Flynn come with them. But the answer was always no. The city was no place for a dog like Flynn. He was too big, too loud, too messy …

  She hated having to leave him behind. Hated having to say goodbye.

  Just like she’d hated saying goodbye to Bo at the end of every summer.

  Ugh. Sadie downed the rest of her wine. She’d managed to avoid thinking about him for more than an hour, but here the man was, creeping back into her thoughts.

  Bo had been her first everything. Her first crush, her first kiss, her first boyfriend. Her first love, her first lover … her first heartbreak. And while she’d gone on to have many more kisses with many more boyfriends and several lovers, she’d never loved any of them. And certainly none of them had broken her heart.

  Though, one could argue, you can’t break what’s already broken.

  She reached for the bottle and refilled her glass. Growing up, Sadie had spent every summer vacation with her grandmother. From early June to late August, while her parents traveled the globe, visiting hotels around the world for her dad’s job, Sadie was sent to the Murphy family estate, the stables and meadows becoming her world.

  She’d met Bo the summer she was seven, and he’d become part of her world too. A year older, he was reckless and bold and daring. Like Flynn, Sadie couldn’t imagine Bo in the city. He was too wild, too free—unlike anybody she knew back home. When she was with him, she felt wild and free too, the summer days stretching into an endless adventure.

  Well, not actually endless. Near the end of each August, one of her parents’ spotless fancy cars would roll up the driveway to her nana’s estate, come to fetch her home. Sadie could count on one hand the number of times her mother and father came themselves. Usually they sent a nanny, or sometimes just their driver. And once, they forgot to send someone at all.

  That was just fine with Sadie, she’d have been perfectly happy to stay with her grandmother year-round. Then she could play with Flynn all the time and see Bo every day. His father was the stable manager for her grandmother’s estate, and Bo and his family lived on the property in the carriage house, just a short walk down the hill, across the meadow, and through a patch of trees. Sadie had walked the path so many times, she could do it blindfolded.

  As far as Sadie knew, Bo’s family still lived there. It was part of the reason she hadn’t returned to the Murphy estate in years—eleven years, to be exact.

  Who was she kidding? It was the only reason.

  She took a long pull on her wine and sank deeper into the couch, assailed by a sudden wave of guilt. Unlike the fearless heroine she’d spent the past summer preparing to become, Sadie was a coward. The last time she’d set foot on the estate had been the summer after Bo had broken up with her. That horrible, horrible summer.

  Don’t think about that. Back in the box. Close the lid. Lock it tight.

  Sadie stared into her empty glass.

  In the years since, Sadie had made every excuse imaginable to avoid going out to her grandmother’s home. She’d spent time with her nana when the family gathered for events in the city. Visited with Nana when she came to her parents’ house for holidays. Sadie convinced herself that was good enough.

  The lie had been easier to buy when she’d been living in New York. But Sadie had been back in Chicago for months. And still, she’d avoided making the drive north. If she was honest, it was why she’d put off getting a car. Anything to help validate her own bullshit.

  That night on the pier, when Bo had closed the door on them—slammed it in her face, really—Sadie had told herself that in order to move on, she would have to keep that door closed. For years she’d managed to keep it shut, resisting the urge to tug on it.

  She pictured Bo, standing in the conference room, eyes she knew so well flashing in a face that had changed so much. She ached to fill in the details, to know how the boy she remembered had become the man she’d met. Sadie pulled her laptop closer and fiddled with the keys, fingers hovering over the letters of Bo’s name.

  The door was already open. What harm would there be in taking a peek?

  CHAPTER 5

  ON SUNDAY EVENING, Bo raced his motorcycle down the long winding road to his parents’ home. Leaves the shade of marigolds kicked up in his wake. This early in the season, the fall color was just beginning to show, but the corn was already high. The tall stalks swayed in the fields, their silken crowns gilded with golden light as the September sun sank toward the west.

  Bo slowed to a crawl and made the turn onto a gravel drive. A few moments later, he rolled to a stop next to his family’s dusty old pickup truck. After ditching his helmet, he grabbed his saddlebag and bypassed the house, heading for the nearby stable.

  The familiar smells of horse and leather, dust and hay assailed him as he strolled down the aisle between the stalls. The stable doors were open wide, allowing the evening breeze to flow through, dulling the more acrid scents. Horses knickered as he past, ears flicking with interest, a few curious muzzles peeking over the top of their stall doors. He patted their velvet noses, but kept moving, boots scraping on the stone floor.

  Pausing in front of the last stall in the aisle, he tugged the pack off his shoulder and unbuckled it. As he bent over, rummaging inside the bag, something warm and firm nudged the top of his head. Bo glanced up, smiling at the big beautiful dark eyes watching him. “There you are,” he murmured, reaching out to stroke the mare’s neck. “How are you, old girl?”

  She nudged him again, harder this time, and he chuckled. “Impatient, aren’t we?” he teased, pulling out the treats he’d brought. Bo turned around, facing away from the horse. She headbutted him right between the shoulder blades. “Hey,” he grunted. “No peeking.” He grabbed a fistful of chopped carrots in one hand, and sugar cubes in the other.

  Turning around again, Bo held up both fists. “Which will it be today, bella dama?”

  The mare leaned closer, nostrils quivering as she sniffed his hands. After a moment, she knickered, head bobbing in excitement over his left hand. “You’re so predictable.” He chuckled, opening the fist with the sugar cubes.

  “Uncle Bo?” a small voice called.

  “Back here, Toby. By Stella.”

  “Abuela says not to give her any sweets,” the little boy warned, scurrying down the aisle toward him.

  “Uh-oh,” Bo said as Stella licked the last traces of sugar from his palm. “Too late.” He grinned down at his nephew. “Are you going to tell her?”

  “Nah.” Toby screwed up his face. “She never lets me have sweets neither.”

  “Never?”

  “Well, not never,” the boy admitted with all the irritated acquiescence his seven years could muster. “Mamá made cherry-cola cake for dessert tonight, and Abuela promised I could have the first piece.”

  “Cherry-cola cake, huh? That’s my favorite.” Bo smiled.

  “I know. That’s why Mamá made it.”

  “Here.” He offered Toby the carrots in his right hand. “Why don’t you give these to Stella.”

  “Abuela says you’re s’posed to eat your veggies first.”

  “That’s good advice,” Bo agreed. “But once in a while, it’s okay to break the rules.” He stopped, glancing down at his nephew sheepishly. “Um, don’t tell her I said th
at. Or your mom, for that matter.”

  “They have too many rules anyway,” Toby grumbled. He lifted his hand toward Stella and the mare reached forward eagerly.

  “Easy now,” Bo warned. “Make sure to keep your hand flat, palm up. You don’t want her to mistake one of your fingers for a carrot.”

  “I know,” the boy huffed, his voice smarting with indignation.

  Bo backed off, reminding himself his nephew knew what he was doing. Like Bo, he’d grown up around horses, riding almost before he was walking. Still, Bo kept an eye on Toby’s hand while the boy’s precious little fingers were in chomping range of Stella’s strong white teeth.

  “It tickles.” Toby giggled as Stella’s soft thick lips roamed over his palm, looking for more.

  Bo smiled, loving the sound of his nephew’s laughter. There was nothing quite like it in the world. He brushed his hand over Stella’s forelock absently, watching Toby. His nephew’s blond hair glinted golden in the warm shaft of evening sunlight spilling in the open doors of the stable. Bo glanced outside, the sun had dipped lower, long shadows creeping across the meadow beyond the stable yard. He looped his saddlebag over his shoulder. “Come on,” he ordered, swooping Toby up and tossing him over his other shoulder. “We better get inside and wash up.”

  He tickled Toby in the ribs and was rewarded with shrieks of glee.

  “One of your abuela’s rules I know better than to break,” Bo said as he headed toward the house, arm locked around his nephew’s middle, holding him in place, “is never show up late for dinner.”

  * * *

  Hands clean and folded, Bo bowed his head as his father said grace. Sunday dinner was sacred in the Ibarra family. You didn’t miss it unless you were bleeding, and only then if the injury was life threatening. Though he’d moved out and gotten his own place several years ago, Bo still made the hour drive to his parents’ house every week.

  “Amen,” Dad’s gruff voice concluded the prayer.