Serenading Heartbreak

by Ella Fields

  That explained a lot. “Congratulations.”

  “Yeah, it’s all finally happening.”

  The comment had me pausing, and with my eyes widening, I loosened my seat belt and turned to face him. “Wait a second.”

  “Waiting,” he said with a twist to his lips, then overtook someone on the highway.

  “You never planned to record the album, did you?” My voice was quiet, realization dawning with every word I uttered. “You did it for them.”

  “It was their dream, not mine.”

  My chest squeezed. “God, did you plan to go to rehab?”

  He shook his head, laughing a little. “No. I had hoped I could fix my shit on my own. That I wasn’t an alcoholic but merely a guy with a past he’d rather forget.”

  I blinked what seemed a thousand times. “Not showing up, flaking on them… What were you trying to achieve exactly?”

  “I wanted Hendrix to take control. To do what he was always meant to—kick me to the curb and take my place.” His laugh was gruff and short. “But he had too much faith in me and love for me, and therefore, hope that I’d come through and do my damn job.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell them?”

  He thought about that for a minute. “Many reasons. The main one being they’re my friends. My family. No matter what I’ve done, they would’ve remained loyal, and that loyalty might’ve torn them apart. They didn’t need me, but they needed to figure that out on their own.”

  “Yet that might not have happened.”

  “No,” he agreed, “which fucked with my head. They weren’t supposed to keep waiting on me. They were supposed to take the opportunity presented to them and steal it for themselves. To make sure everything they’d worked so damn hard for would be theirs. I took a gamble, not knowing whether it would pay off, but in the end, it somehow did.”

  “You son of a bitch,” I exhaled out. “Music is your life.”

  His scowl deepened, pulling at his pillowed lips. “It’s part of who I am, and for the longest time, I’d thought it’d be my ticket out of hell, the thing that’d save me, but it’s not my life, and it didn’t save me.” He swallowed. “I had to do the saving myself.”

  The wind seeped into the cracked open windows, whistling and chilling, while all he’d said tried to sink inside my whiplashed heart and brain.

  “Clover,” he said, soft and direct. “Music is my passion, but you’re my first and greatest love. Combined, you both help heal and hide all that festers. But it wasn’t enough. The guilt I’ve carried for years wouldn’t let that be enough.”

  A haze filmed my eyes, and I shut them to clear it. “I’m so fucking proud of you, and I’m so fucking upset with you.”

  Everett’s hand grazed mine on my lap. “That’s okay, and that’s enough heavy.”

  I stared out the window to the blurry green and gray that lined the road as he scrolled through the options on the screen, then selected a song.

  When that familiar intro began, my eyes drifted closed once more. The temptation to bang my head against the window erupted. Memories of the past collided with the soul-shaking present.

  Yet as Everett kept singing “Start Me Up” by The Rolling Stones, it became harder and harder to linger in the gloom. And it only worsened when he kept hitting restart until I finally caved, laughing while I gave him what he wanted, and joined in.

  It was midafternoon by the time we reached my parents, and Everett rounded the car, insisting I stay put until he did.

  His hand was strong around mine as I used it to help pull myself out of the seat, a yawn howling from me. “You need a nap.”

  “Ugh.” I nodded. “I so want a nap.” Another thing pregnancy had changed about me. It’d turned my non-nap-loving self into a serial napper. I could happily nap for only ten minutes, so long as I snuck one in.

  “My babies!” Mom hurried over, arms wide as she tried to squeeze us both in a gripping hug. My stomach made that a little hard, but she didn’t seem to care.

  Dad grasped my face, inspecting it before saying, “You look tired, Stevie girl.”

  “God, thanks.”

  He grinned. “Still beautiful, so don’t be hating.”

  “Don’t say don’t be hating and we should be fine.” I kissed his cheek, then did my best not to waddle across the lawn as I headed inside.

  He was right. I must have been tired since even one look at the gardens in desperate need of love didn’t so much as slow my feet.

  Everett brought our bags to my room. “Don’t worry, I’m on the couch.”

  I didn’t have the energy to say anything. I crawled onto my bed, comforted by the scents of home, and passed out to the sound of Everett’s soft chuckle.

  A gentle wobble of my shoulder, and my hair shifted from my face. “Dinner’s ready.”

  I was instantly up, earning me a rich bout of laughter as I tried to orientate myself with my surroundings.

  Home. My old room.

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed, not bothering to fix what I was sure was one hell of a bird’s nest atop my head before pushing myself up.

  Everett took my arm, halting me. I frowned, then groaned with mortification when he swiped below my bottom lip. “Lovely.”

  “Even when you drool, baby.”

  I shoved him playfully, and he grinned, moving for me to amble out and down the hall. The scent of food tugged me one way while my bladder screamed for me to veer into the bathroom.

  “I’ll prepare you a plate. Go use the bathroom.”

  I grumbled beneath my breath, then shut the door on his smiling face to do my business.

  Everett was heaping sausages and salad and cobs of corn onto my plate when I plucked out a chair and all but collapsed into it. “Smells so good.”

  I yanked it from him and got started, ignoring the laughter my parents tried to contain.

  “Your mom was all about the ribs when she was pregnant with you.” Dad cut into his sausage, then speared some salad. “Lost count of how many late-night trips I made.”

  “She wants anything she can pour gravy on,” Everett said, drizzling some over my food.

  Mom was watching us with a sparkle in her eye, and I smiled back, ignoring the way it grated. Trying to ignore how I was the only person in the room who still seemed to harbor any ill feelings toward the man next to me.

  A honk outside had Mom’s fork dropping with a clatter, and Dad looked up just as the front door opened.

  “Hola! We come bearing Christmas carols.” Hendrix skidded into the kitchen, waving his phone in the air. Graham, New Guy, and Dale came crashing in behind him.

  As everyone said their hellos, Hendrix readied his phone, and as Hendrix’s voice filled the room, singing Everett’s lyrics, I couldn’t stop myself from observing Everett.

  His knife and fork were suspended midair, his jaw slack as he listened.

  Hendrix watched, excitement warring with trepidation, waiting for the same reaction I no doubt was, but it never came.

  “Well, I’ll be fucking damned,” Everett said through a laugh, dropping his utensils and shoving his chair back.

  Back thumps and half hugs were had as one song rolled into the next, and the guys dragged stools from the kitchen counter to the table.

  Mom’s eyes were glossed, a lone tear rolling down her cheek, elbows on the table, and her hands clasped beneath her chin. Even Dad appeared choked up, his smile tilting as his attention stayed fixed on Hendrix’s phone.

  When Everett returned to his seat, I dropped my knife and lowered my hand beneath the table, linking my fingers through his. Where they stayed as we listened to the rest of Orange Apples’ debut album.

  Graham went home to see his parents, and New Guy joined him.

  “What’s his name again?” I asked Everett when they’d left.

  He rubbed his brow. “Ron. No, Raymond.” He cursed. “Rupert?”

  I laughed and heard my phone from my room, but I was too comfortable on the couch, the l
ights on the tree hypnotizing as we watched Home Alone after dinner.

  Everett got up, returning a minute later with my phone and an expression made of ice.

  I took it from his outstretched hand and watched as he flopped into his seat at the end of the couch. He didn’t lift my feet to his lap again, and instead, he ran his hands through his hair, staring daggers at the TV.

  I looked down at my phone and saw why.

  Prince: Merry Christmas, beautiful. I’ll be back next week, and I think we should talk.

  Hesitation held my fingers immobile over the screen. The feeling of eyes on me sizzling my already jumpy nerves.

  Me: I’ll be home.

  Even though there was so much I wanted to say, I let it go and locked my phone.

  Everett’s eyes followed its journey to the floor, and I loathed the feeling that sending just a text message evoked. That slithering, scaly guilt.

  After five more minutes, the tension drifting between us threatening to drown, I heaved myself off the couch and headed to bed.

  I was pulling my pajama top down over my belly when Everett walked in, shut the door, and set my forgotten phone on my nightstand.

  I pursed my lips. “You’re mad.”

  “Understatement.”

  I pulled the sheets back, taking a seat on the bed. “I’m not with him, Everett. And for the record, I’m not with you, either.”

  “Keep telling yourself that,” he bit out, kicking off his boots.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said, keep telling yourself that.”

  “Fuck you.” I sent a finger at the door. “The couch is back that way.”

  “I love you, Clover.” His words were low but soaked in feeling as he stood before me, tilting my chin up to his face. “I’m in deep, all yours, ruined from the inside out.” His grip firmed when I made to wrench away, and he sucked my gaze to his. “In a world hell-bent on destroying me, fate handed me you. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone fucking take you from me.”

  The cool air turned warm, and I tore my eyes from his blazing ones. “Love isn’t everything. It’s not what I need from you.”

  He fell to one knee, his hand reaching behind him. “I wasn’t going to do this until tomorrow, but no matter how long you leave me waiting, I need to do it now.” A velvet blue box popped open, revealing a platinum band pillowed among red inside.

  “Everett.” The word was a warning and a wish, wrapped in one.

  “You can keep holding me at arm’s length, or you can forgive me and let me love you the way I need to. The way I’m desperate to with every breath this life allows me to take. Eventually is ready and waiting for us, Clover. And though I’ll never feel as though I deserve you, I’m hoping like hell you’re ready to grasp it, so we can finally make it ours.”

  This love, our love, it was an entity all on its own. It stalked us wherever we roamed; a living, breathing beast that wouldn’t rest until it won. Until it was just him and me, saddled in its unshakable, never-ending embrace.

  Yet I couldn’t form one of the two words I needed to say. I couldn’t take one of the two options presented to me. All I could do was stare at the gleaming ring, at the possibility of a future that lay uncertain.

  Would he leave again? Or had everything that’d happened with us, and to him, led him to this place where he could speak of forevers and mean it with every inch of his being?

  I wasn’t sure. All I knew with certainty was that I was crumbling, my walls teetering and collapsing, one by one.

  And still, I didn’t make a sound.

  Well, hopefully my dad won’t curse up a storm when I tell him I got my sixth ticket for the year. I figure he’ll be okay when I tell him the story of how it led to meeting my future wife…

  The memory of his voice impaled, sliced open everything I’d tried to keep contained, and ruined me.

  “Clover? Fuck.” Everett set the box down on the nightstand, then climbed onto the bed and pulled me to his chest. “It’s okay.” He soothed, his fingers wiping at my wet cheeks. “You don’t need to answer me right now. But I had to ask, to take this step and make myself clear, that’s all. I need you to know what my intentions are.” He continued to swipe at my cheeks, speaking softer now. “It’d always felt like a dream, thinking I’d one day get to ask you to be my wife, but now that I can touch it, picture it, and believe in myself, I had to ask. I had to.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, lowering my head to his chest. “I love you, I do, but—”

  “Shhh.” He kissed my forehead. “It’s okay.” It wasn’t. I could hear it in the strain of his voice and feel it in the thundering of his heart against my cheek. “Take your time.”

  A knock sounded on my door; Mom’s voice hesitant on the other side. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, we’re okay.” Though there wasn’t a trace of conviction in Everett’s answer.

  We arrived home the day after Christmas, and although Everett doted on me and smiled and laughed at all the right times with the family, my non-answer plagued him.

  It was in the shadows that swept across his eyes, turning the vibrant hue of green a shade darker. I wanted to erase it—the anxiety, the hurt, and the disappointment.

  I wanted to, but I didn’t.

  “Darling,” Sabrina said two days before the new year would arrive. We were inundated with orders for parties, weddings, funerals, and the list went on. “You should be sitting while you’re doing that.”

  She dragged the stool over, and I thanked her as I sat and finished tying off the stems.

  “You look like you’re either about to go into labor or jump off a cliff.”

  I snorted, then coughed, then groaned. “Everett asked me to marry him.”

  Gloria’s head peeked out above the cupboard on the other side of the counter. “Say what?”

  Sabrina’s gaze was heavy as if she was trying to peel back my skin to look inside my muddled brain. “You didn’t answer him.”

  Gloria gasped. “Oh, boy.”

  “He left me. Again. While I was pregnant, mind you,” I grumbled, tossing the knife down. “Seems like everyone but me is ready to forget about that.”

  “We’re not the ones in love with the guy,” Sabrina said. “Grudges, betrayal—they burn longer and brighter, and can last a lifetime where love is concerned.”

  “Amen.” Gloria jerked her head, then lowered it, rummaging through the cupboard again.

  “Unless, of course,” Sabrina said with a casual air, “you decide to forgive.”

  I chewed on that, tasting how sweet it would be, and almost fell into the tempting notion. I’d done that one too many times. “I don’t trust him.”

  “Don’t trust him not to leave you, you mean?”

  I nodded, leaning over to grab the tape out of the drawer.

  “You don’t need to answer him, you know,” Gloria said. “My sister, Clara, kept her first husband waiting two years before she agreed to marry him.”

  “Didn’t he die a year later?”

  Gloria moaned. “Seriously, Sabrina?”

  Yeah, seriously? I shot her a look, and Sabrina winced, hands filled with flowers, upturned. “Whoops.”

  My lips itched with the urge to smile. “While I appreciate you guys wanting to help, I can’t decide right now. So… I’m just not going to.”

  “Ever? So you’re saying no, then?” Gloria asked, shock painting the question.

  “No, I’m not saying anything.”

  The two women were silent for a solid few minutes, but I could feel them biting their tongues and groaned again. “Out with it.”

  “You don’t need to marry him to forgive him. To try again.”

  “What she said.” Gloria raised a hand in the air, shaking it.

  My own stopped moving, and I lowered the bouquet to the countertop. “I know that.” I did know that, but I was still stuck. Maybe it was self-preservation. Maybe it was Aiden. Maybe it was hormones running amuck.

  Or maybe i
t was because, as Adela said, once I took a step too far in one direction, it was done.

  Something began while something else ended.

  Over.

  The new year brought no clarity, only more anxiety.

  And with my looming due date, I knew I couldn’t keep living in tangles. Yet there I was, staring at a text from Aiden asking me to see him later at his apartment, and tied up in knots.

  “Hey,” Everett said, tapping on my opened bedroom door. “I got some more snacks, and the drug store had a sale on wet wipes.”

  “Oh, thanks.”

  He shifted on his feet. “Are you busy?”

  In answer, I locked my phone, setting it down as I gestured for him to come in. “What’s that?”

  Everett stared down at what looked to be an album in his hands. “A photo album.”

  I straightened as much as I could, and he sat beside me, the bed dipping.

  The album looked old. Dust stains speckled the black leather and lined the page edges. “It’s yours?” He nodded, hands tight around it. Too tight.

  “When did you get it?”

  “At Christmas. Broke in when they were asleep.”

  Oh. “Your parents?”

  A defeated sound fled him. “Seems the same old, same old, but I didn’t care. I just wanted this. I’d kept it tucked beneath some loose floorboards in my room and thought you might, um…”

  “Look at it with you?” I suggested when his hands shook.

  “Please.”

  Fire licked at my chest as I absorbed his determined expression, which was fixed on the album. His brows puckered, and he sucked his lips between his teeth. “Here,” I said, patting the spot next to me and gently taking the album from him.

  He scooted closer, and I laid it over our legs, my heart racing as I opened the front cover and found a picture of Everett in dirty overalls, aged two, on the first page. “You adorable thing, you.” I scratched at some dust covering the picture so I could see his golden blond hair and carefree smile.