Our marriage reminds me of our wedding, and how we invited my mom and my little sister to the ceremony. Before that, they ended up changing their phone numbers and never gave me their new ones, so it’s been harder to stay in contact.
But when they didn’t RSVP at all, I knew they’d eradicated me from their lives with more permanence. I don’t blame them. My dad was invited to the wedding, and I’m sure my mom didn’t want to be anywhere near him.
In the end, Garrison and I both lost our families. He left his, and mine eventually left me. I grieve the loss at times. Like an ocean rising above me, it swells up in random moments. When I see a princess crown in the kid’s aisle of a store, reminding me of Ellie.
But I have a lot of love to pull me to the surface. Garrison and I gained another family. Not just with the Calloway sisters, but with each other.
I’ve never felt more loved than by him and with him. He’s my comfort and home.
My lungs are light, and I return to the island with my phone in clean hands.
Garrison clutches my hips and lifts me onto the counter.
I nearly drop the phone, breath caught in my throat, but he steadies my wrist. His other hand travels up my thigh. My legs are split around his waist, so he fits as close as possible against me.
We consume one another by sight alone. Not needing to say much to feel a lot. I click into a song, and as soon as the first few notes play, Garrison smiles more.
Interpol’s “Rest My Chemistry”
A few of these lyrics are tattooed on the crease of his forearm and bicep, along with a black skull.
I glance at the Magic 8-Ball beside me on the kitchen surface, then up at him.
“I have another question about our future.” I push up my slipping glasses.
He grabs the 8-Ball. “Ask it.” We’re almost eye-level, his lips skim mine with a light, longing touch.
I hang onto his waist. “Will we always be this happy?”
Our eyes well up. We’re finally together in the same city, same house, same room, same bed.
Sharing everything.
A life.
Love.
Garrison stops shaking the 8-Ball and sets the plastic sphere on the counter. “We don’t need that to know the answer.”
I smile with him. “Without a doubt,” I say our answer, my chest elevating with a big breath that we both take.
His forehead touches mine, our mouths an aching distance away. “It is certain,” Garrison whispers, and we kiss with slow, yearning passion.
We’re twenty-four, but when we’re together, I feel blown back. It feels like we’re only twenty, then seventeen. Distance, time, miles and hours are intangible, metaphysical things, all woven and jumbled in an invisible tapestry, and like my favorite comic books, the beginning is really the end and the end is just the beginning.
42 BACK THEN – August
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
GARRISON ABBEY
Age 20
Candlelight bathes Willow’s bedroom, rose and vanilla scent strong. Music plays softly from a playlist. It feels like I’m living a dream—and tomorrow I’ll wake up in my tattered, damaged reality.
Until then, I’ll stay here.
I’ll never wake up.
Willow is tucked close in my arms, her heartbeat slowing as we both let the night wash over us. I just took her virginity. Filled her in ways I never have before.
It’s been one of the best nights of my life, but it ends soon. And I really haven’t come to grips with that.
“What time is it?” Willow whispers, cocooned by my body. I have the better view of the clock. It’s that weird time period, what some people call morning and other people call night. 3:10 a.m.
I know what she’s really asking. “We have to leave in twenty-minutes.”
Her suitcase is already downstairs beside the door. We’ve even showered, dressed, and returned to bed, lying on top of the comforter. I don’t want Willow to leave my arms because there are parts of me that wonder—maybe this is it.
This is the last time I get to hold her.
She’s moving to London.
She’s starting a life over there.
I’d be an idiot to think there’s a good probability this can last. But Christ, I want to believe it. I want to believe this is just a roadblock, a setback—not the end.
Never the end.
I swallow hard and kiss the top of her head. We’re quiet in the stillness of the room, letting the moment pass.
“Maybe I should stay,” she starts.
“No.” I rub at my dry, raw eyes. “Let’s just head to the airport. We’ll have more time in the car together.” I need to get moving because the longer I lie here, I’ll do something stupid. Like agree to her suggestion.
She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, and I see that she’s been crying.
“Hey.” I pull her into my chest. I need to be the strong one here. Even though I’m being ripped open. “We’re not apart yet.” I brush her tears with my thumb. “And when we are, I’ll be all over you with my ones and zeroes.”
Her lips lift in a quivering smile. “Me too.”
We all drive to the airport together, the private plane sitting on the tarmac. Willow’s not taking commercial this time because Lo wanted to say goodbye at the airport and not back home. Paparazzi aren’t allowed here, and it gives Willow enough peace to talk to everyone.
Wind whips around us. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but the airport lights illuminate the area. I watch as each of Willow’s family hug her goodbye. Her dad, her brothers, Lily, Rose, and Connor. She bends down to put her arms around three-year-olds Maximoff and Jane. The toddlers sniff loudly, sad about their Aunt Willow and favorite babysitter leaving them. Nearly one-year-old twins, Charlie and Beckett smile as Willow kisses the tops of their heads.
When she moves to Daisy, it’s harder.
Everyone falls hushed. In Daisy’s arms is a six-month-old baby, Sullivan Meadows, who almost didn’t make it into the world. Willow lets Sulli wrap her little fingers around her pinky, the one with the friendship ring. And Daisy and Willow break into sobs.
I stand off to the side, watching each goodbye through a sickness that tosses my stomach in awful knots. My throat swollen. My whole body tensed up in terrible ways.
Don’t go! I want to scream.
Stay!
PLEASE!
My soul is fighting with myself.
I have loved her for longer than I have loved myself. I found her when living seemed like a worse choice than ending it all.
And now I’m losing her.
To London.
Fucking London.
Willow wipes at her wet tear-streaked cheeks, her olive-green shirt makes her warm, brown eyes glow even more in her sadness. Daisy backs away, crying and sniffing loudly, she walks into Ryke’s arms.
And then Willow looks at me.
We’re five-feet apart and that already feels like the biggest fucking distance in the world. It’s about to be a million times worse.
Kill me.
Just fucking do it already.
I’ve been waiting all my life to die. She leaves, maybe I’m going to finally be ready. Maybe it’s just time.
I can’t tell her this. I can’t tell her how hard this is going to be for me. Because if she stays for a loser like me, I’ll never survive that.
Each step closer to her is a knife in my chest. It feels like my brothers are here. Standing off to the side, sliding in the blades.
One after the other.
Step. Cut. Step. Cut.
Step…
I’m bleeding out.
But I touch her. Hand to hers.
She’s a mess of tears. She’s my mess. “Willow.” My voice cracks.
Her chin quakes. “I don’t want to go. I change my mind—”
I bring her into my chest, tucking her close, hand on the back of her head. Tears stream down my jaw, but I face the plane, not her family.
I swallow the
pain.
Swallow it down.
Down.
I pull back to look her in the eyes. It’s somehow easier to speak. Maybe because she’s right here. Like my brain knows she’s not gone yet. “We’re going to make this work,” I tell her, trying to sound confident. “I’m going to text and Skype.” I cup her wet cheeks between both my hands. “We’re going to make this work, Willow. Because you’re my girl, and that’s not going to change.”
Please…don’t let that change.
She cries into my shirt, soaking the fabric. We stay like that until she has to board the plane. Until I have to watch her physically leave me.
I’m cut open on the ground.
Nothing without her.
Epilogue
PRESENT DAY – June | Baltimore, Maryland
GARRISON ABBEY
Age 39
Dirt tracks, bicycle tires, and a familiar announcement projected over a rowdy audience, “riders ready…watch the gates”—I smile, taking it all in.
Summer.
I’ve lived through thirty-nine summers, and before I met my wife, before those long drawn-out summer days in a comic book store, the few hot months out of school were hell.
I hated every summer.
My brothers were home more, and I’d do anything and everything to stay away.
Now, I hunger for the summer days, for the sticky heat and dirt under my soles. And I know with certainty—at thirty-nine—that I’ve loved more summers than I’ve hated.
Standing behind a wooden fence, I’m among the noisy crowd who cheer on racers. Sun beats on an outdoor BMX track, a little bit outside of Baltimore.
I run my palm back and forth over my head, hair buzzed short. I prefer nothing in my eyes. Not needing to hide anymore.
I haven’t for a long time.
My parents never tried to reconnect. Not even when I was in my early twenties and first left. They released me from their household like a crow who flew through the window and found its way out.
I never had to attempt to pull away twice or a third time. Once was all it took. And I’m grateful for that.
All three of my brothers ended up working for our father’s tech company. I never see them. Never speak to them, and like my parents, they’re gone from my world.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” people shout from the sidelines, pumping up the teen racers as they catch air over dirt hills and skid along the curves of berm turns. Pedaling towards the finish line.
I drop my left arm, while my right arm remains loosely draped over my wife’s shoulder. And I smile as my eyes graze Willow and her fingers that are laced with my hand.
My gaze keeps traveling across the event. Competitors in full-face helmets, visors, and long-sleeved jerseys line up with their BMX bikes and wait for their moto, what Lo still calls a “heat” even after the tall one corrected him a hundred times.
Loren Hale is still that guy.
The corner of my mouth rises, and I glance down the fence. Where Lo has his arms around Lily while they watch the race. Lo is smiling, and in a quiet beat, he catches my gaze and we exchange something pure and happy.
Something I think only guys like me and him can ever truly understand. How long it’s been and how far we’ve come. To peace around us and to peace with ourselves.
I nod.
He nods back.
Johnathan Hale died twelve years ago after his many years of alcohol abuse finally caught up to him. He started laying off me after my kid was born. And by the time he passed away, we were on better terms.
Close by Lily and Lo, Rose spritzes water on her neck and collar. Connor says something to his wife, inaudible over the crowds. She glares up at him. He grins down at her.
My office is still inside Cobalt Inc.—so that weird back and forth between Connor and Rose is too commonplace.
Willow always thought they’d have like eleven children. Enough to fill out a football team. They didn’t end up with that many. But all the Cobalts are at the BMX track today, and their seven kids make up a large portion of our group.
An empire.
Literally the media calls them the Cobalt Empire, and Willow and Lily own too much Cobalt Empire merch. I love the T-shirts and water bottles. Hate the snow globes.
“Oh…no, I’m out of storage,” Willow says beside me, and I glance back as she untangles our hands and quickly tries to free up storage on the DSLR camera strapped around her neck.
Keeping my arm splayed over her shoulder, I use my other hand to hold the camera and help Willow.
Daisy notices the dilemma after Ryke drops her on her feet. He had her upside-down. Even after all these years, Ryke is a beast. Physically able to climb any mountain and also toss his wife over his shoulder. Paparazzi aren’t allowed in the event, but I bet their telephoto lenses captured that shot.
Media loves a flirty Raisy.
“I still have the video camera.” Daisy holds up a newer digital camcorder, Velcro-ed to her hand. “We won’t miss a thing.”
Everyone also has cellphones. No matter what, the competition will be recorded a billion times over by the core six.
Willow smiles at Daisy, who smiles brightly back, and they let me fix the DSLR. My eyes skim the women as they talk and laugh.
Their friendship has only strengthened through the years. Even as work pulls everyone away at times. Willow is the Chief Brand Officer for Superheroes & Scones, and every now and then, we’ll return to London. We always make a point to time meetups with Tess and Sheetal. They live in Atlanta, but they visit Sheetal’s family in Liverpool about twice a year.
We went to their wedding in London.
And currently, Tess is an actress on a medical TV drama that we tape every Tuesday night, and Sheetal is a producer on the same show.
I click into the camera settings. Two clicks later and the no storage warning sign disappears. “Got it.”
Willow grins up at me. Rising on her toes, we kiss and she whispers, “Thanks.”
My lips upturn more, and I cup the back of her neck in tender affection. “Anytime, anywhere.” Still, to this day, my heart belongs to Willow.
At the sound of a familiar whistle, my gaze drifts. Near us, twenty-two-year-old Jane Cobalt has two fingers in her mouth, whistling the way her Aunt Daisy taught her.
Bright smile, freckled cheeks—Jane cheers on other teens, basically strangers, while we wait for the next moto.
She’s smart. Like genius intellect. In a minute flat, she calculated the points needed for the top ten racers to qualify for the Grand Nationals in Tulsa.
And I thought I was good with numbers.
While Jane lives in Philly, she’s been seen out with some douchey bro. Connor acts like it’s not the worst thing in the world, but I see how his face twitches whenever Lo and Ryke bring up the subject. Connor has run about ten different background checks on the guy and was even a heartbeat away from asking me to hack into the bro’s computer.
I don’t blame him.
Jane is severely famous.
The five oldest kids are.
I glance over my shoulder at our tent. Coolers surround pop-up chairs under the shade. Maximoff Hale has a few bottles of Ziff in arm, on his way back to everyone. Athletic, kind-hearted, unwavering confidence is in his entire demeanor.
I feel fucking old. Because next month, he’ll turn twenty-two, and I look at him and still see the little kid I’d babysit.
The one who made me feel alive when being away from Willow seemed like certain death.
His thick brown hair is dyed lighter and blows in the wind.
Moffy smiles as he stops beside me. “Is it time yet?”
“Should be next.” As he passes a blue flavored Ziff to Willow and limeade to me, I notice a wet piece of paper in his hand. “What’s that?”
He makes a face and stuffs the paper in his back pocket. “A guy gave me his number.” His eyes briefly flit towards a group of twenty-something racers before landing on me. “I didn’t want to
reject him in from of his friends.”
I glance between the smiling guy and Moffy, a lot more coolly than his dad would be. Lo has no chill when it comes to his kids and dating. “You’re not interested?”
He shakes his head. “He’s cute, but…” Moffy stares off in thought. He’s bi and considered a top “eligible bachelor” in the nation. He’s never been in a serious relationship, and I think whoever ends up with Moffy will probably need to be tough as hell.
As new riders reach the gate, we all face the track.
Willow squeezes my hand in excitement and then starts snapping pictures.
“Let’s go!”
“You got this!”
Everyone shouts around me.
I cup my hands around my mouth and yell, “Ride smart! Stay sharp!” My pulse ratchets up.
USA’s BMX East Coast Nationals has been in full swing. Day three, and my kid already raced six motos to qualify for this Main.
Every time I watch my thirteen-year-old, I’m fucking nervous. It’s not a safe sport, and we’ve already dealt with a broken arm at age six. Lost control of the bike during a district championship.
Crowds cheer, “Come on! Let’s go!”
Eight competitors grip their handlebars. My thirteen-year-old among them. In the blue and black jersey and full-face helmet.
Let’s go.
I keep my arm over Willow.
“Set yourselves,” the announcer calls out. “Riders ready…watch the gates.” Beep beep beep. The gates drop, and I hold my breath as tires descend on dirt track. Speeding and flying over hills.
I clap and yell, and when the last lap comes, Willow grips my shoulder.
Our kid is in third and shooting for first.
“Wait, wait…” Willow says and then we wince when two competitors pass at the turn.
Shit.
We see the standing.
Sixth place.
“Good race!” I shout and clap. This year, our thirteen-year-old came in first at the East Conference Championships and needed to place fourth at this event to have enough points to attend Grand Nationals.
Have to wait till next year.
Willow and I meet the competitors at the end of the track.
Wherever You Are (Bad Reputation Duet Book 2) Page 34