Jack & Sadie

by JB Salsbury

  When she moves her hand to reveal a cherry Blow Pop, I want to scream. Instead, I snap at her, “By who?”

  She bites her fingernails. “I-I’m not supposed to say.”

  Is he here? Watching me? Or is he sending these fucking things here with instructions?

  I shouldn’t snap at the poor girl—don’t kill the messenger and all—so I try to relax when I say, “I don’t want it.” I hand the thing back to her. “And if he leaves any more for you to give me, please throw them away.”

  She nods, and, with her head down, scurries back behind the counter.

  My blood heats, my face matching the temperature of my flaming insides. I gather my things, leave my coffee behind, and head out in search of a new favorite coffee shop.

  Jack

  I know I’m taking a huge risk, but nothing else is working.

  My calls go straight to voicemail and Sadie hasn’t read a single text I’ve sent since the day she left me. I’ve sent letters, pouring out my heart, I’ve left at least one hundred Blow Pops, and it’s all been for nothing. She hasn’t responded to any of my efforts.

  I’m losing hope, but I’m not ready to give up on her. On us. Not yet.

  Which is what brought me across the country, to her front door, at almost one o’clock in the morning.

  I lift my Bluetooth speaker above my head and hit Play on my phone. Leaning back against my reasonably priced rental car, I direct my efforts toward the single window of Sadie’s bedroom.

  She may have been able to ignore the Blow Pops, but she can’t snub REO Speedwagon. I convinced her to date me with “Can’t Fight This Feeling,” and I’m banking on the magic that worked back then to work again. As the words to “Keep on Loving You” pour from the speaker, and hopefully straight to her heart, I slide up the volume to full blast.

  “If you think I’ll give up and leave, you’re wrong!” I wait for her light to flick on or to see her face in the window. “I can do this all night!”

  Maybe I should also knock? There’s no way she can’t hear the music. Still, no movement from anywhere in the house.

  So I do what I must, and I belt the words at the top of my lungs, totally off key and obnoxious sounding.

  I’m well into the chorus when the front door flies open with such force it freezes the words in my mouth. But it’s not Sadie staring at me—it’s Ricky. His hair is a complete mess, and he’s shirtless but wearing something from the waist down. I don’t know what though, because I refuse to look.

  He glares at me through puffy eyes. “What the fuck, Jack?”

  A bit of my desperation simmers and I feel like a dick as I pause the song. I set the speaker aside and climb the stairs to meet him, peering over his shoulder into the dark condo. “I need to talk to Sadie.”

  “No shit,” he says dryly. “And here I thought this whole John Cusack thing was for me.”

  “Sadie’s a sucker for eighties’ references,” I mumble, feeling really dumb and looking hella desperate. “Can you please tell her I’m here?”

  He stares at me, props his shoulder against the doorframe, and crosses his arms. “No.”

  “No?” He can’t tell me no.

  “Sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you’re too late.”

  I’m already shaking my head. “What does that mean?”

  He sighs, hard and heavy, then shrugs his big, stupid shoulders. “We didn’t mean to fall in love.”

  My eyes snap to his and narrow. “What did you say?”

  “We’d been best friends for so long. The attraction was always there—I mean, how could it not be—”

  “You?”

  “But we never acted on it because we didn’t want to ruin the friendship.”

  “You’re gay!” I laugh, hoping he does the same because this has got to be one big fucking joke.

  Only he doesn’t laugh. He stares, expressionless. Protective.

  I step back, needing the distance in order to keep from knocking his perfect white teeth from his skull. My pulse pounds between my ears and my skin flushes with heat.

  “She was upset when she came back from New York. I comforted her like I always do when cowards break her heart.”

  I swallow hard. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

  “I’ve loved her for years—”

  “Stop talking.”

  “And she loves me too.”

  I turn and stumble down the stairs. “That’s enough.”

  “You sure?” he calls to me. “You came here to say something, so say it. Get it all out, then move the fuck on.”

  I pause on the sidewalk, my mind spinning, my heart breaking. Because truth be told, Sadie deserves a guy like Ricky. He was her security when I abandoned her the first time. When that monster robbed from her body, Ricky was there for her too. When I deceived her, he was there for her then. I’ve always taken Sadie’s love, but never earned it. Ricky has more than earned it, but never taken it.

  Until now.

  Turning back to face the man who fairly won the only woman I’ve ever loved, I say the only thing I can. “Take care of her.”

  “I always have.”

  Ouch. He’s right, but damn, that hurt.

  “Can you…” I shove my hands in my pockets, my hands fisting against the urge to kill Ricky. If I didn’t know how much it would hurt Sadie, I would already have my hands around his neck. “Tell Sadie I’m sorry and that I’ll always love her?”

  “I’ll try to remember that. Go home, Jack.” His words are punctuated by the soft click of the door, followed by the lock.

  I pull the cherry Blow Pop from my back pocket and throw it as hard as I can across the street, then I head back to the airport to see about the first flight to New York.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jack

  Eight weeks.

  It took eight weeks to unravel a life that took me five years to build. And no, I’m not being dramatic.

  First, Sadie’s moved on. I never thought I’d see our end. I couldn’t fathom a world where Jack and Sadie weren’t a thing. Now it’s Ricky and Sadie, which sounds wrong and… stupid.

  Second, I came to the conclusion that I hate New York. After hearing that Ricky and Sadie were together, I stumbled, drunk and exhausted, off the plane at JFK, and it was as if everything I used to love about the city felt like a dream. Where the crowded bustle of the city use to invigorate me, it now left me irritated and claustrophobic. All the restaurants I enjoyed now seemed pretentious and pompous. The food is stupid expensive. I pay a fortune for a tiny apartment I hate. I despise that I have to drag groceries up an elevator, and I have a goddamn doorman. Seriously, who the fuck do I think I am?

  I went from loving my life and all the opportunity the city had to offer to absolutely despising myself and what I had become.

  Oh, and third, I was “let go” from Riot Advertising. That’s how they put it. “Jackson, I’m sorry, but we have to let you go.” I guess they thought that particular verbiage sounded less brutal. They’re wrong. And to add insult to injury, they had Tanner fire me.

  Why did they fire me?

  I’ve called in sick and blown off important meetings in order to take long weekends out of town for personal reasons. A.k.a. stalking Sadie. But the final nail in the coffin of my career was a complaint filed with the myBubble people. Yep. Sadie. She let them know she was catfished by yours truly. How fucking humiliating.

  Thankfully, Tanner already knew—it was his dumb idea after all. He managed to convince the company to send me packing with a decent severance package.

  So, jobless but with a hefty balance in my bank account, I was able to make some changes.

  “Do you have any more questions, Mr. Daniels?” Victoria Lockman, my realtor, hands me the keys to my new house. “You sure you don’t want me to walk through it with you?”

  “No. Thanks for helping me find something so quickly,” I say as I gaze at my new home. The barn-red siding is missing in places, the roof needs t
o be replaced, the landscape is overgrown, and weeds are growing from cracks in the driveway. I look beyond the house’s flaws to the cliffs ahead and the great Pacific Ocean that yawns out before me. “This is perfect.”

  “Encinitas is a great choice. Thirty minutes to downtown, hour and a half to Los Angeles. Location, location, location!” she says in a sing-song voice. “If you have any questions, you know where to find me.” She slips her slender body, encased in a tight pencil skirt and blouse, into her ‘Benz and throws me a finger wave as she drives away.

  I grab my suitcase, which has enough to get me by until the movers show up on Thursday with my things and drag it up the driveway to the carport entry. The key sticks in the rusted keyhole and takes some shimmying to unlock. The scent of dust mixed with humid air makes it clear that the place hasn’t been opened in weeks. I leave my suitcase by the door and take in the open living space, happy to see it’s accurate to the photos Victoria emailed me. The gas stove and refrigerator are at least twenty years old but are the newest things in the house. The sixties-era wood paneling on two walls and painted white brick on the other would be difficult to stomach if it weren’t for the long wall of windows and sliding glass doors on the west-facing wall. I unlock and open them to let in the ocean breeze and clear out the cobwebs.

  Stepping out onto the back deck, which is weak with wood rot, I shove my hands in my pockets and make peace with my new reality.

  The small beach town of Encinitas is the polar opposite of New York—smiling faces, people who hold doors for strangers, and every storefront with a water bowl and treat for people walking their dogs.

  I wonder if I should get a dog. Make life less lonely.

  With every day that passes, big city life seeps from my pores—along with hard-earned sweat. I’ve ripped paneling off the walls, stripped linoleum floors, and removed most of the decaying wood from the deck. My back aches from the labor, and the old cot I found at the secondhand store in town doesn’t help. As uncomfortable as it is, I’ll miss sleeping in the living room, the ocean breeze pouring over my face, when my furniture from New York gets delivered this afternoon.

  Finishing my jog a couple miles up and back down the coast, I wipe sweat from my forehead and slow to a walk. Two vehicles are parked in front of my house, and they aren’t delivery trucks. I check my watch. Just after ten o’clock in the morning.

  I recognize the cars and mumble, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” I consider turning around and running to San Clemente, but two big bodies circle around the hood of one of the trucks and one of them waves. I’ve been spotted. “Too late.”

  I hang my head and approach, wondering what the fuck my dad and uncle are doing here. They walk to the end of the driveway to meet me, both grinning as though they know something they shouldn’t.

  “Let me guess,” I say as I approach. “Mom.”

  My uncle Braeden throws his good arm around me and pulls me in for a back-thumping hug. His bad arm, maimed from his time as a Marine, stays close to his side. “Nephew, I love what you’ve done with the place.”

  I chuckle and hug him back. “It’s dumpster-chic.”

  The moment he releases me, my dad gives me a similar greeting. He studies the piles of old flooring, vintage wallpaper, and deck wood I have accumulating in the driveway. “You’ve been busy.”

  “I have.” Ripping the shit out of this old house has been the only thing that keeps my thoughts off Sadie. I cross my arms, feeling a little vulnerable and a lot transparent. My family has to know my sudden move to the left coast isn’t at all like me. “What brings you by?”

  “That.” Braeden directs my attention to the vehicle parked next to my dad’s Rubicon. “Thought you could use it.”

  I lean around and spot my old 4-Runner. “You brought me my truck?”

  My dad nods. “’Bout time you took this ol’ hunk of shit back. Sick of watching it collect dust.”

  My gut clenches as all the memories of Sadie and me in the truck wash over me, but I hide it well. Or at least I hope I do.

  “Had the engine tuned up, new tires,” my dad says while keeping his eyes on the truck rather than me.

  “Raven do the work?” I barely choke out the words, but I already know the answer. Sadie’s mom is the best mechanic in Las Vegas—hell, in the entire southwest.

  He shifts uncomfortably and I brace myself because I already know the answer. My dad would never use a mechanic other than Sadie’s mom. “Yep. She wanted to do more, ya know, little things on the inside, but…” He clears his throat. “Figured you’d want to keep it the way it was when you drove it.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” The memory of Sadie and her family, my second family, hurts—fuck, it hurts—knowing things are forever changed between us. They have Ricky, so they won’t miss me. Especially Jonah and Carey. “I can’t believe you guys did this.”

  “Figure you’ll need a vehicle to get you to and from your job.” Braeden’s eyebrows are raised.

  “I’m working on it. I have an interview next week. Riot actually gave me a great recommendation.”

  “Oh, one more thing.” Braeden reaches into the back seat of my dad’s truck and pulls out a guitar case.

  My chest expands and fills with a comfortable fullness as I take the instrument. “My guitar?”

  My uncle lifts his chin, his expression serious. “How long has it been since you played?”

  “Years. I’m not even sure I remember how.”

  My dad claps me on the shoulder and squeezes. “It’ll come back to you. So you want to show us around?” He tilts his head toward the house. “Put us to work?”

  “How long you guys staying in town?”

  Braeden stares at the ground as my dad sniffs and studies the house. “As long as you need, son.”

  When he finally looks at me, I try to ignore the pity in his eyes. My mom sent them here because she’s worried about me, and now that they’ve seen me, I’m confirming their fears.

  I’m a lovesick, heartbroken, pathetic shmuck who moved all the way across the country to be closer to a girl who wants nothing to do with me.

  She’s moved on.

  I never will.

  Sadie

  “Third day this week,” Ricky says as he slides my board into the back of his pickup truck. “I’d say it’s official.” He quirks a handsome smile my way. “You’re back.”

  I scrunch up my sand-covered toes on the blacktop of the Pacific Beach parking lot, feeling a slight flicker of unease that dissipates quickly. I rewrap my towel around my waist, unable to fight my grin. “I am definitely back.”

  He runs a hand through his wet hair to shake out some of the water. “Livin’ the dream. I don’t know a single person who wouldn’t kill to have your life.”

  He’s right. Since Insufficient Trauma spent three weeks at Aldridge & Shultz, I’ve been getting commission requests on top of commission requests. I made a website and posted some of my available pieces and nearly sold out. Between painting and surfing again, I hardly have time to consider the part of my heart that went missing the day I stormed out of Jack’s apartment.

  “Hungry?” Ricky’s midway through a surfer change, attracting the eyes of several bikini-clad girls as they pass by, but he doesn’t seem to notice them as he waits for me to answer.

  “Sure.” I do some under-towel-maneuvering to change out of my bikini and into cut-off shorts and a tank top.

  “Burritos it is.” He tosses his wet things into the bed of his truck, and I do the same with mine.

  It’s a short drive to the burrito shack. I suck in a fortifying breath before heading through the door that Ricky holds open for me. This is where I took Jack after our disastrous breakfast in La Jolla. It was the first time I saw a glimpse of the boy I’d fallen in love with. I still can’t believe that even then, he was getting into my head by pretending to be Dawn.

  We order, and I pay because Ricky is still working in catering at the resort. We settle in to eat in silence.

&
nbsp; He finishes before me, and he studies me, making me think the companionable silence is coming to an end. “You miss him.”

  I force down my bite, sip my Dr. Pepper, and shake my head. “Not at all actually.”

  “I wasn’t asking.” His light eyes shine against his sun-kissed skin.

  I push away my burrito wrapper. “I don’t.” I surprise myself with how convincing I sound.

  “You’re lying.”

  “What do you want me to say? Do I miss him?” I search the posters and old surfboards hanging from the walls. “He lied to me, like, a lot. How could I possibly miss someone who deceived me in such a personal way?” Please, tell me, because I do miss him and I don’t want to.

  He shrugs and shakes up the crushed ice in his Styrofoam cup. “Desperate people in love do stupid shit.”

  This is the first time he’s spoken about Jack since Jack showed up, banging down the door at one in the morning. Ricky told Jack we were together, we were in love, and that Jack needed to move on. It’s been twelve weeks and the letters and Blow Pops eventually stopped.

  Jack finally gave up.

  I should be relieved.

  Right?

  “What are you saying, that I should forgive him for lying to me? For pretending to be someone else so he could convince me to sleep with him?” Saying it is pissing me off again. How could he do that to me?

  Ricky chuckles and grins. “Give me a break. You already knew you wanted to sleep with him when you asked ‘Dawn’ if you should. Besides, no one could talk you into doing anything you didn’t want to do.” He reaches across the table and his warm hand envelops mine. “I know what it’s like to love you. I can’t imagine not having you in my life.”

  I blow out a breath. “He chose to lie and deceive me. That’s on him. I’m not taking the responsibility for this.”

  He pats my hand before releasing it to lean back in his chair. “Life is way too short to hold a grudge.”

  “I am not holding a grudge!”

  He shrugs. “You are.”