Playing by Heart

by JB Salsbury

  With my phone face up in case I get a text back—no! I’m not doing this. I shove the device in my purse that hangs off the back of my chair. “Out of sight, out of mind.” Whoever made up that saying is either a fucking idiot or has never met the all-consuming Jesse Lee.

  I sip the creamy iced goodness and pray Wyatt is standing me up. When I see his blond head pass through the doorway, I curse my rotten luck.

  “You’re here.”

  I spot the clock on the wall. “Yeah, I’ve been here for twenty minutes.” He doesn’t need to know it’s only been ten because I was ten minutes late.

  He points at my drink with his charismatic smile that I used to love but now I see right through. “I was hoping I could buy your drink.”

  “Then you should’ve been here on time.” I smile sweetly and suck back a healthy gulp, giving myself brain freeze.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He heads to the counter and places his order, but getting it doesn’t take as long as I hoped. He’s back with his white cup, takes a seat across from me, and studies my face, likely noticing my wet hair in a tight bun on the top of my head and the absence of makeup. I’m also wearing my GCU sweatshirt and leggings with flip-flops. What? I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. I’m only here out of the very, very little respect for the friendship we once had.

  “So what’s up? What did you want to talk about?”

  “Oh, yeah, that.” He picks at the edge of his coffee cup like a nervous little girl. “Listen, I, uh… I never really felt like we got closure after we broke up.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Huh, that’s funny because you moved on pretty quickly. I’d say you closed out well before you even broke up with me.”

  He holds my gaze in awkward and prolonged eye contact. “That day I saw you outside church, when I saw you with Jesse, I realized I wasn’t over you yet.”

  “I’m sorry… what?” Surely I misheard.

  “I know, right? One minute I’m with Suzette and we’re planning a wedding, and then boom, I see you and it’s like all these feelings come rushing back and—”

  “Stop.”

  He stares at me with anticipatory excitement.

  “You saw me plenty of times when I was alone and you felt nothing.”

  “I know, that’s the thing. I think on some level, I always knew you’d be there if I wanted you back, but seeing you with someone else—”

  “Not someone else. With Jesse. There’s a huge difference there.”

  He jerks his chin back in offense. “What? No there’s not.”

  “Just say what you mean and stop wasting my time. Or better yet, I’ll say it for you. You’re wondering why a megastar like Jesse Lee would be interested in someone as plain and boring as me. You’ve imagined that a rock-god like Jesse has awakened my inner sex-kitten and that maybe you missed out on my ahhhh-maazing penis-pleasuring skills.”

  “That’s not true. I mean, a part of me wonders how you got a guy like him, but—”

  “Oh my gosh, could you be any more condescending?”

  “No, no, I’m just being honest.”

  I roll my eyes so hard it hurts.

  He reaches for my hand, but I snatch it away. “Please, listen to me. I still love you, Beth.”

  My stomach sinks to the floor and I laugh even as my eyes heat with tears. “Do you have any idea how long I prayed I’d get to hear you say that again?”

  He smiles as if what I said was all the permission he needed. His gaze drops for a second to my boobs. What a fucking pig.

  “I can’t believe how stupid I was.” I shake my head. “They’re just words. It’s not real.”

  “It was real—”

  “I obsessed over you for months! I beat myself up for all the things I must’ve done wrong to chase you away, and I ended up punishing myself for it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I run a hand through my hair, accidently pulling strands from my bun. “Do you remember the last place we had sex before you broke up with me?”

  He seems to mull that over. “Um…”

  He doesn’t even remember!

  Anger stirs in my gut. “The backseat of my car!”

  “Yes, I was going to say that. How could I forget making love in the backseat of your car? Of course that’s where we did it.” The excitement in his face dies a little as if he’s putting the pieces together.

  “You told me you loved me. You told me I was the type of woman a man marries. You fucked me in my car and then broke up with me thirty minutes later in the parking lot of a Dairy Queen!”

  His eyes dart to the side. “Please, keep your voice down.”

  “Keep my voice down?”

  “Beth—”

  “Did you just tell me to keep my voice down!”

  His eyes widen and he drops back in his seat as if I just grew ten feet taller and three extra heads.

  “I hated myself after that night, and every time I got in my car, I was reminded of my own stupidity! I just wanted the guilt to go away! I wanted it to stop, so I tossed a lit book of matches into the backseat of my car, hoping to baptize my mistake in fire.”

  “Jesus.”

  I shove a finger in his face. “Do not use his name in vain in front of me, you piece of shit.” I push away from the table and grab my purse. “Leave me alone or I’ll get a restraining order.”

  The room erupts in applause as I stomp out.

  Instead of going to the nearest bus stop, I walk all nine miles home.

  Jesse

  By the time I pull the Lexus into my brother’s driveway, the sun is setting and the string of Christmas lights illuminates his doorstep. I’m reminded of the first night I was dropped off here by Dave and how antsy I was for a drink. The hunger is still there, like a tickle in the back of my throat, but it’s manageable. What isn’t manageable is my need to see Bethany.

  I shut off the car and read, for what feels like the millionth time, the text she sent me.

  I don’t care.

  Just like every other time I’ve read those three words, my stomach turns with nausea. I hate that I chased her away and I don’t know how to fix it. I considered showing up at the diner and forcing her to talk to me, but the crowds will make it impossible for me to get her alone.

  I watch the blue flickering light of Ben’s TV as it filters through the mini-blinds. Good, he’s still awake. I hop out, grab my bag, and knock softly on the door.

  He answers in his sweatpants, an Arizona Diamondbacks shirt, and a smile. “Hey, you’re back.”

  “Yeah…” I rub the back of my neck, feeling awkward and intrusive. “I probably should’ve called.”

  “No, don’t worry about it.” He steps back and opens the door wider. “Come on in.”

  “Thanks.” I linger in front of him, wondering if it would be weird if I hugged him. He seems to be toying with the same idea. Rather than fumble through an uncomfortable embrace, I head for the couch. “Are you watching the cooking channel?”

  He closes the door with a chuckle. “I try to get some ideas by watching these shows, but they end up making me hungry and I have to shut them off. How was LA?”

  I drop my bag at the foot of the couch and fall back onto the lumpy cushions. “Great. Recorded some of my new songs, signed a new contract with Arenfield. Life is good again.”

  He frowns, obviously picking up on my not-so-subtle depressed tone. He takes the couch on the opposite side, grabs the remote and hits the mute button, then turns to me. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.” There’s a hint of worry in his voice. He’s probably concerned I’ll relapse. He’s not the only one. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back.”

  “Dave would’ve liked me to stay in LA.”

  He tilts his head. “Why didn’t you? I would’ve thought you’d jump at the chance to be done with your imprisonment here.” He’s smiling.

  I’m not. “Me too. Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”


  “With you and Maggie, how did you know it was real? I mean, when you were sure that she was it for you? Like, the one.”

  He laughs and dips his chin for a moment before bringing his gaze back to mine. “About ten seconds after I met her.”

  “Really?” I frown. “It was that immediate?”

  “It was for me. She was magnetic.” He sinks back into his seat as the weight of her memory seems to settle on his chest. “Every time I was forced to walk away from her, I felt like I was being robbed of something amazing.”

  Magnetic? Huh. I suppose Bethany and I had that in the beginning, although our magnets were flipped the wrong way. Then after the night she helped me work through that shit with my brother and that godforsaken chair, it’s like the magnets were made right and we stuck. “Must’ve been nice to be so sure so early on.”

  “I said I was sure. She wanted nothing to do with me for years.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.” He shook his head. “I was just out of seminary and I thought I had all the answers. Believe it or not, I was a pompous, judgmental know-it-all. Maggie called me a self-righteous jerk on several occasions.”

  “She was probably right.”

  “She was absolutely right.” He picks at a thinning spot on the knee of his sweatpants. “I’m so grateful she gave me a chance to grow up before she gave up on me completely.”

  “Why?”

  He seems not only surprised but a little pissed about my question.

  “I mean, she died and here you are, left alone to raise Elliot. I know you don’t regret your kid, but if you take her out of the picture, you can’t tell me you don’t regret falling in love with Maggie.”

  “I don’t. Never for a second have I regretted falling in love with her. I’d take all the suffering ten times over for a chance to love her again for five minutes.” He stares lovingly at a photo of her across the room, starry-eyed. It makes no sense.

  “But… that’s stupid. You’ve suffered without her for almost as long as you’ve had her, and from the looks of things, you’re going to continue to make yourself miserable for the rest of your life.”

  He opens his mouth to argue then closes it. Thinks for a few seconds, then nods. “Yeah, that’s probably true. But love hurts. The only thing that makes the pain bearable is the memories I have of her, and I’d do nothing to change that.” When I don’t respond, he jerks his chin up. “Where is all this coming from?”

  I groan and drop my head. “I don’t know. I’m kind of a mess over a certain girl and I can’t explain it.”

  He chuckles. “Sounds about right.”

  “Does it though? Because I wasn’t expecting this shit to make me feel so insecure and un-fucking-comfortable. I thought when, or if, I finally met the right woman for me, it would be easy and it would feel amazing and she’d listen to me instead of being such a stubborn pain in my ass, ya know?” I fist my hands in my hair. “This woman drives me insane, and I don’t know whether to run like hell and get as far away as I can or drop to her feet and beg her to continue to punish me.” My eyes snap to his. “That’s some sickass shit. Maybe it’s a kink and I’m some kind of emotional submissive.”

  His face scrunches up. “No, it’s not that. It sounds like you’re in love, and honestly, you couldn’t pick a better woman. Bethany is great girl. She’s a good human being.”

  “But that’s the thing! I didn’t pick her. She crawled in like a virus and took over my central nervous system, killing me slowly by—”

  He holds up his hand. “Please tell me you’re not going to say that to her.”

  I lean forward and cup my head. “I don’t know what I’m going to say to her. Every time I’m around her, stupid shit comes out of my mouth. The woman has made me crazy. ”

  “What do you know?”

  I huff out a breath, completely exhausted. “I know that the idea of living without her makes me want to drown myself at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.”

  “You know, for a guy who writes songs about love, you really suck at it.”

  I groan. “I know. Thing is, the love I write about feels good. This shit?” I motion at my chest. “This does not.”

  “That’s because you don’t have her yet.”

  “What do I do?”

  “That’s easy. Get her back.”

  23

  Jesse

  I wake under a blur of blue fabric to the high-pitched sound of some cartoon squealing on the television. My back aches from a restless night that had nothing to do with the lumpy couch I slept on. I bat the fabric from my face only to feel something scrape against my head.

  “No, you have to leave that on.” Tiny, sticky hands rearrange something that pinches my head. “You’re Princess Jasmine.”

  I stare boldly into Elliot’s unwavering eyes while she’s standing over me in a blond wig that goes down to her thighs. “Who are you?”

  She spins, and all the wiry blond hair whips at my face. “I’m Rapunzel.” Her dark curls peek out from under the wig around her hairline as she leans in to smash whatever is on my head down lower. “You have to wear this to cover your face or we can tell you’re a boy.”

  I reach up to the plastic crown and groan. “Let me get this straight. In my sleep, you decided I’m Jasmine and dressed me up?”

  She hands me a tiny plastic cup. “We’re having a tea party.”

  I sit up and, with my feet, accidentally knock over what I assume is the rest of our tea party. At Elliot’s horrified response, I try to right the fallen Barbies and tiny teapot.

  “Good morning, princesses.” My brother stands at the kitchen table, sucking at hiding his grin behind his coffee mug. He’s dressed in a blue collared button-up, tan slacks, and brown dress shoes. “I hate to interrupt the royal tea party, but Rapunzel needs to get dressed for church.”

  When Elliot turns to argue, I flip my brother off over her head—with two fingers for double the fuckage.

  “But Daddy, we were just getting started! I don’t want to go to church, I want to stay with Jesse.” Her words are edged with tears.

  My brother’s shoulders slump as if he’s prepping for a battle he’s had to fight more times than he could remember. “Elliot, take your things to your room and—”

  “No! It’s not fair!” She fists her hands as if she’s using them to charge up for the incoming hissy fit.

  “Hey, it’s cool.” My voice is scratchy from exhaustion and maybe an hour of sleep. “I’ll help you clean up and we’ll have tea later.”

  She starts to argue, but I already have my arms full of little plastic saucers and spoons and a couple dolls. “Fine, okay.”

  I follow her to her room and past a snickering Ben, who earns an evil eye from me through my blue veil.

  “Where do these go?” I ask while searching for an obvious place to put fake tea party shit. My eyes snag on the wall where Justin Timberlake’s poster used to be, and I grin. In its place is a poster of mine from years ago, before I started treating my body like Keith Richards. “Hey, you have one of my posters up.”

  She shrugs while shoving her wig into a big chest labeled Dress Up. “Bethany gave it to me.”

  Her name sends warmth expanding in my chest. I look at my arm as a slow slide of goose bumps trails from my bicep to my fingertips. “She’s got good taste, this Bethany.”

  Elliot stares at me as though she hasn’t the slightest clue what I mean. I clear my throat and pull off my headpiece before tossing it into the Dress Up chest.

  “I wanted to keep Justin, but she said he’s old news.”

  I grin, imagining how that conversation went and wishing I had been there to hear it. And really, what is that all about? Since when do I care about being included in a conversation between a four-year-old and a twenty-four-year-old woman?

  If I didn’t know for sure that my balls work properly, I’d be racing to the bathroom to make sure they do. Why am I being such a wuss?

  I leave Elliot and he
ad back out to grab some coffee.

  “If you plan on coming with us, you should probably get ready.”

  I lean on the countertop. “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Why? Because of the media? We’ll go in my car and sneak you in the back. After you didn’t show up last weekend and because you were just seen in LA, I don’t think you have to worry about it.”

  I sip my coffee. “You think Bethany will be there?”

  He nods. “I know she’ll be there.”

  I set down my cup and grab my bag. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

  Bethany

  “Good morning, welcome to church.” I hand a bulletin to the woman who breezes by, ignoring me completely. “Looks like you need it,” I mumble then curse myself for being so salty. “Good morning, Mr. Lewis. Welcome to church.”

  He greets me with a smile and the familiar scent of mothballs coming from his Sunday sport coat.

  I continue to greet the early arrivals to church, my stomach in knots. I don’t want to end up face to face with Wyatt and Suzette. I’m not ashamed of what I said to Wyatt yesterday during coffee—I needed to get that off my chest and he needed to hear it from me—but I am humiliated that I did it so publicly. I’ve sworn to never go to that Starbucks again. Thankfully there’s one on most every corner, so I treated my bruised ego to a Frappuccino and pumpkin loaf before church this morning.

  I’m in the middle of asking Mr. and Mrs. Gaines about their weekend when I see Ashleigh racing toward the door from the parking lot. That she’s able to jog in those heeled booties isn’t as surprising as how her plaid mini skirt and black sweater are equal parts stripper and Sunday best.

  “How does she do it?” I whisper to myself before she skids to a stop in front of me.

  Her heavily lined eyes are wide. “We need to talk.”

  “I can’t, I’m—”