by C J Burright
“Ethan hit her with what we call less-lethal munitions. They’re meant to take down, not kill. His shot stunned her before she could shoot. The umbrella distraction helped.” His mouth twitched, barely perceptible. Garret squeezed her cold hand, barely felt. “She’ll have a nasty bruise—nothing to keep her from being deported—and she’ll remain in custody until then.”
London made a noise of relief and pressed her cheek to Tatum’s head. Tatum had yet to let go of London’s neck, her face buried in her mother’s shoulder. Bob had his arms around them both.
There was some exchange of gratitude, some shaking of hands, people filing out of her living room, all of which skated at the edge of Adara’s consciousness. Her mind replayed the scene over and over—Tatum’s face, the shot, the fear. That moment of not knowing who lived, who might be dead, gone forever, leaving holes that could never be filled. Tatum had come so close to dying.
Just like Joey.
Memories rushed back, vivid and boiling with emotion. Joey telling her everything would be all right. The brave face he’d worn at every doctor appointment, as if his defiance alone would defeat a disease. His last day, dark circles under his eyes, his skin gray, his hand weak in hers, using her tears to coax unwanted promises…clawing out her heart.
Leaving her behind with the crippling pain.
“Adara.” The way Garret said her name indicated he’d already said it more than once. “It’s over. Everyone’s okay. You’re okay.”
She focused on his worried face with some effort. “You should go, be with your family.”
“Not without you.” He gathered her close to his heat and solid strength.
Adara shook her head, pushing free, gently firm. She needed silence, solitude to deflate the vision of Tatum lying on the floor, her eyes lifeless.
Joey’s lifeless eyes.
She held back a sob. Barely. “I’m okay. I just…” She stood, putting distance between them, not daring to look at him, not yet. Not until she pushed back the image of Joey’s limp hand slipping from hers. “I just need some downtime, to process.”
He eased to his feet, careful, as if trying not to startle a wild bird. “If you want to simply think in silence, I’ll hold you. If you want to talk, I’ll listen. If you want to run until dawn, I’ll suffer with you.” He stepped closer and stopped when she backpedaled. “Don’t shut me out, neshama.” The hint of a plea colored his voice. “Tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen.”
She forced herself to lift her gaze to his and hold it. “I need to be alone.”
Garret studied her for a long moment, his dark eyes solemn and shadowed. At last, he nodded. “Text me when you’re ready?”
“Okay.” She let him kiss her on the forehead, followed him to the door and locked it behind him.
* * * *
Saturday passed in silence. Adara had no idea how long she’d stared at her bedroom ceiling. Her eyes burned and sunset cast a last golden gleam through her window. Hours had ticked by, empty and silent. She rolled over and went back to sleep.
Sunday arrived with a house-shaking rendition of Beethoven’s Fifth. She pulled the pillow over her head and ignored it.
An hour later, Beethoven replayed—and an hour after that and the hour after that. At the tenth time, Adara sighed. She shuffled out of bed and slouched to the door, not bothering to look through the peephole. If she looked, she might not have the strength to open the door.
“You didn’t text me.” Garret crowded past her, bringing a draft of temperate air laced with honey and summer. He faced her and crossed his arms, hiding the faded lettering on his abstract pub T-shirt. “I’ve been ringing your doorbell every hour.”
“I noticed.” She closed the door.
“Did you?” His hell-fire gaze raked her from head to toe, over her bed-mussed hair, the oversized T-shirt, down her skulls-and-crossbones pajama pants to her bare feet. “Funny. I’ve sat on your front steps since morning, yet this is my first Adara sighting of the day.”
She leaned against the wall and slid down until she sat, too tired to stand, too empty to argue or defend her reasoning. “I can’t go back.”
After a hesitation, he sat cross-legged in front of her. His long fingers curled on his knees, as if restraining himself from touching her. “You don’t have to go back, neshama.” His expression softened, not enough to erase the worry lines on his forehead. “It’s over. Bella’s in custody. Tatum’s safe. You’re safe.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” Her voice sounded dead and distant. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall. “I can’t go back to what we were doing.”
“Care to clarify?” he asked, wariness underlying his easy tone.
“Seeing Tatum, before I knew she was okay, reminded me of…everything.” She forced her voice to be steady. “Of Joey.” She opened her eyes. “I can’t keep pretending I might be ready someday to forget. It’s not fair to you.”
“I’m not asking you to forget anything. You shouldn’t forget.” He hooked her pinkie with his and squeezed gently. “You’re in shock. Right now isn’t the time to make important decisions.”
“It will be the same decision tomorrow.”
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t make my choices, Adara. I’ll stay in limbo if that’s the closest I can be to you. I won’t let you go. The fear stirred up by Bella will fade, and I’ll still be here, waiting for you.”
She pulled her finger free. “I’m trying to be honest and fair.”
“Ben-zonna.” He raked his fingers through his loose hair. “By trading what we have for fear of what may or may not come? That’s not fair. That’s cowardice.” He blew out a breath. “You’re braver than your brokenness, Adara. I’ve watched you deal with it on a daily basis, and sometimes it’s the day-to-day that’s the hardest battle. Don’t surrender now. You’re not alone. Don’t shut me out.”
The challenge in his words didn’t hit the mark, but the truth sifted dangerously through her detachment. She heaved to her feet before it weakened her. “I need space, Ambrose, not a musician counseling session. I want—” She sucked in a shuddering breath. “I need to be alone.”
He slowly stood, his gaze never leaving her face. Without another word, he left, shutting the door softly behind him.
Adara couldn’t move, her feet frozen to the tile, every inch of her iced over. Silence surrounded her, so keen that she knew he stood on the other side of the door. A long time passed before his boots scraped on the porch.
“Neshama.” His voice filtered through wood and metal and bone. “Don’t shut me out. Please.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her mouth with both hands to keep her sob inside. The desperation in his ‘please’ was the same tone she’d used to plead with God to save her brother. And her answer to Garret was the same.
Silence.
* * * *
Garret took the beer Ian offered. Instead of drinking, though, he set it on the table and traced abstract designs in the condensation on the bottle. Ian’s television in the next room, tuned to some soccer game, added a chaotic backdrop to his melancholy.
‘I need space. I can’t go back.’
Adara’s words ricocheted in the newly opened rift in his chest, aching with each hit. While his every minute revolved around her, she needed minutes away—from him in particular—and he had to respect that wish. But what if Bob was right? What if he wasn’t enough to inspire her and the space between them kept expanding until it became unbridgeable? Merely thinking it paralyzed him with cold.
Ian flipped a chair and straddled it, folding his arm over its back rail. His long, level stare didn’t motivate Garret to respond. He wasn’t in a mood to hear the I-told-you-so lecture or a skewed insight into women—what they were and weren’t good for.
Exhaling noisily, Ian broke the reign of silence. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.” He grimaced. “Dude, do you need a hug?”
Garret managed a weak smile. “Not from you, though I appreciat
e the offer.”
“And since that was a one-time only deal, this is all you get now.” He lifted his fist, waiting for Garret to bump it.
He tapped Ian’s fist with his own. Starting the inevitable conversation himself and getting it out of the way might prevent any argument. “I know what you’re, shockingly, not saying. She’s not an ice princess. She’s lost, finding her way back.” He refused to consider the alternative. “If she wants time alone to figure things out, I have to give her that freedom.”
“Your mind-reading skills need some work.” Ian’s responsive smile was vicious. “Some lessons have to be learned the hard way, and if you make the same mistake twice, I’ll rip you a new one, friend or not. That’s what I wasn’t saying. You took your shot and missed. Let it go. Move on.”
“Sometimes it takes more than one shot to score.” He arched an eyebrow.
“Friends don’t let their friends be morons.” Ian smirked around the bottle as he tipped back his beer.
“Do you know what I’m waiting for?” Garret leaned forward on his elbows and narrowed his eyes. “You, meeting a woman you can’t live without. Then, maybe I’ll give some weight to your advice when it comes to those of the female persuasion.”
“Never gonna happen.” Looking bored, Ian pretended to pick lint off his unholy pink polo.
Garret let an evil smile crawl into his expression. “‘Never’ is a very long time, especially when there’s a blonde assistant at your office who you seem to have difficulties looking at while ogling every other woman on the planet.”
“The fact you mention such inane subjects proves you’ve spent too much time with girls in your lifespan. Since you’re freed up from responsibilities and mistaken muses, let’s resume our ESPN, poker and pool nights. After three years overseas, surviving a stalker and a close call with commitment, you need a man-up readjustment.”
In the other room, the television announcer crowed, “He shoots! He scores!”
Garret’s phone buzzed and his pulse jerked. But instead of Adara, it was another text from his manager. He grimaced. “‘Free’ is a relative term. My violin has been personally requested to replace an injured headliner for the remainder of an Ireland tour. I’ve been wanting to hit Ireland, but not sure I’m feeling it right now. My manager needs my decision.”
Returning to the tour scene so soon felt premature. He hadn’t mapped his path forward because all future plans had hinged on Adara. He’d wanted her insight and opinion, what she wanted in their life together, before cementing his next move, and their relationship had been too raw to press such serious subjects. Now he was left with a fast choice to make on his own.
“My two cents?” Ian tapped his bottle. He’d never been able to hold a beat, no matter how much he’d practiced with Garret in their younger years. “You came back to recharge. Instead, you got burned.”
“Not exactly.” Garret took a swig, the sour beer a perfect match to his mood.
“Dude, accept it. You’ve been dumped.”
He thumped the bottle on the table and didn’t bother curbing the growl in his voice. “Adara wanted space. That isn’t the same.”
“Don’t murder the messenger.” Ian’s cool expression didn’t change, but understanding softened his voice. “You say she’s lost. I’m saying some people can’t be found.”
Or don’t want to be found. Garret drained his bottle and pushed it aside.
“Your kid gig is done in two days, and your manager chooses this day to call?” He smirked, back to his old self. “Serendipitous.”
Garret preferred to apply his favorite word when it coincided with new, exciting and fateful in a good way, not the sense of his universe being remade into ashes.
“Give Miss Stark the space she wanted—a whole ocean’s worth—and finish your recharge by taking the unexpected opportunity in a place you’ve always wanted to go,” Ian continued. “Do your usual tour thing and kill all social interaction. Focus everything on your music. Make the break work for you. Maybe that will give you both some clarity.”
Garret rubbed his temples. His world had slid off its axis in less than three days and he couldn’t blame it completely on Bella. Adara controlled her own reactions. If she didn’t want to see him, he wouldn’t resort to stalking. “It always worries me when you make a modicum of sense. I begin to question my morals and dignity.”
Ian clinked their bottles. “You’re welcome.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Monday morning, the budget-cut day, Adara woke well before dawn, her eyes puffy from crying. She pulled her hair into a short ponytail, slipped into running gear, grabbed her water bottle and opened the door.
An origami boat fell onto the threshold. She picked it up, the paper cold on her fingertips. Clearly, it had been there for quite some time. Without opening it, she gently set it on the foyer table and went for her run.
The boat was still there when she returned, breathless, burning and nowhere near serene. She reached for it and hesitated. She’d made the right decision. Garret deserved someone who could love him with zero inhibitions, and hurting him had been awful. She should have run from the start, pushed him away until he gave up.
Still…gently, she opened the paper watermarked with a star and Graywood Police Department. A burst of affection pulsed through her. The man must pilfer paper wherever he went. Inside was a number in Garret’s loopy handwriting, as she suspected, but this time he’d written words with it.
30,628 total. Not long enough.
Her breath caught. Holding the boat between her hands like a live moth, she ran to her room and jerked the shoebox from beneath her bed. The origami inside shifted, whispering together, most of them refolded in their original shape. With shaking hands, she lifted one and opened it.
Garret’s initials embossed the bottom, the note he’d pulled from his sweatshirt pocket the morning she’d found him puffing along her running trail. The number 47 was penned in the center. She pulled out another, one from the day they’d gone book shopping. 982 was scrawled on the bookstore flyer. The doctor’s instructions from her ankle injury on their first ‘not-date’. 344. The napkin from the night she’d run into him after the board meeting with the number 7. One after another, she pulled the papers out until the shoebox was empty and scraps of paper scattered her bed like colorful snowflakes. All those numbers.
She sank onto the bed before her legs gave out. They were his way of tracking their minutes together, making her moments count because she didn’t have the capacity to do it herself. Her throat clogged with tears she thought she no longer had, but before they could fall, she sprang to her feet and gathered up the notes. She shoved them back into the box by the handful and slammed the lid shut.
But hiding them didn’t stop the hairline fracture in her heart from spreading. Trembling, she slid to the floor, drew her legs up and planted her face on her knees. Garret was right, at least partly. In her quest to avoid pain, she had marginalized her life, a life Joey would’ve celebrated every single minute. What she wouldn’t pay to give that back to him.
She sniffed and rubbed her eyes with her palms. But Joey was gone, an unchangeable fact, while her hours still ticked away. She still had time to honor her promise to him—or at least try. Taking a deep breath, she left the origami boats behind and slipped silently into the hall.
Adara paused outside Joey’s door. Looking at the space he used to tornado from every morning didn’t destroy her like it used to. The ache remained, more a dull throb—a scar rather than the gaping wound from a year ago. She opened the door and paused at the threshold.
Whatever investigation Roman had conducted hadn’t left a single sign beyond Bella’s trash being gone. The bed was still unmade, the closet full of odds and ends, the instruments and sheet music stacked in the corner by the lonely piano. She clung to the doorframe and drew another shaky, cleansing breath. Bella’s invading perfume had faded, barely detectible beneath the dust and stale air, but still there. She clenched he
r jaw. It had to go.
For the second time since his death, Adara entered her brother’s tomb. She marched to the window and opened it wide, allowing brisk air to sweep inside. Loose sheet music flapped and fluttered, as if invisible fingers thumbed through in a search of a particular song. Before it scattered, she gathered the stack and set it on the bed, pausing at the top title. Glitter Girl. Joey’s nickname for Gia.
Tracing the notes written in her brother’s spidery handwriting, she blinked back a film of tears. Gia should have this song as a permanent reminder of the man who loved her wholeheartedly. He’d adored Gia and never let her forget she was a treasure.
She suspected that, in Joey’s absence, Gia had forgotten her ‘treasure’ status.
A chill went through her, a clarifying sense of purpose. It was time. Time to let go of Joey, finally put him to rest—and she didn’t want to do it alone. She needed Gia there with her, to share his memories with someone else who had loved him and missed him just as deeply.
* * * *
Twelvish hours, a bottle of wine and an ocean of tears later, Adara sprawled on Joey’s bed and lifted his pair of over-loved Converse. “Gross. Remember these things?” She shoved them in Gia’s face, which happened to be right beside her. “They still stink.”
“Stop!” Gia covered her nose with the neckline of the T-shirt she’d put on during their foray into Joey’s things, an ancient ode to U2 from one of Joey’s many attended concerts. “Do you know how many times I put those in the garbage? They always came back, like some sort of demon-possessed doll. I should’ve burned them.”
“So you’re saying you want them?” Adara grinned.
“I’ll think about it.” Gia’s smile faded and sighed. “I’ve missed this. Talking about him, remembering… Life with Joey was phenomenal.”
“I should’ve done this sooner.” She toyed with the frayed shoelace. “I’m such an idjit.”
“No, more of a weird antisocial who takes perverse pleasure in wallowing.” Muffling her snicker, Gia elbowed her lightly in the ribs. “But I’m glad you finally did it.”