by Lizzie Fox
We were still in high school when we got married, though both of age, and I loved him endlessly. He picked me up every day after school, and since my mom threw me out when we married, we stayed in the basement of his older brother’s house. His brother was never there, and it gave us privacy. He treated me like a queen, never forgot a birthday or anniversary, and was the best thing that ever happened to me. Unfortunately there were… problems.
Blake had a history of mental illness—depression or mania. He’d never been diagnosed, but that’s what I assumed he had. And, at twenty, he took his own life by a gunshot to the head. I had been the one to find him. I had skipped work to go to the doctor because I felt sick, but I wasn’t sick at all. I was eight weeks pregnant, and positively elated. We had nothing but I knew he’d be excited. I came home to tell him about it… but he was already gone.
He never knew about it.
Four weeks later, I lost the baby. And every little bit of Blake that had once existed was gone.
I had been devastated. Utterly, completely devastated. I did some things I was not proud of until I started writing some; a storyline that inspired my romance novel series. I was living out on paper, the future Blake and I never got to have. We had a beautiful house. A dog. Two-point-five children. It was the only way I could eventually get through it. Now that I realized it, though, I don’t think I ever fully did get over it.
I killed my writing career though when, in spectacular Nicholas Sparks fashion, the main male character died… because he died in real life, and I couldn’t keep going with the lie anymore. I needed to say goodbye. Readers didn’t like it. At all. It wasn’t romance, because all romances had a happy ever after, even though life is rarely like that. Readers want to escape, not be plunged head-first into the crap of life. Eventually, I was dropped from the publisher. I didn’t even care.
Which was probably how and why I stayed with Adam even though things sucked; I didn’t care anymore. I could play the game, work on my writing and not have to worry. I met him at some singles event Victoria made me go to a couple years after Blake died. Adam was the first guy to show any interest in me and… I went with it. We were happy for a bit, but it wasn’t long before the boredom set in. Frankly I just think we were both too unmotivated to go through the steps to end it. And, Adam needed my money. Now, he had plenty of course.
It was cliché; all the money in the world and we were miserable. Blake and I had nothing—nothing—barely a pot to piss in, and we were blissfully happy. Were. But it wasn’t enough.
I wasn’t enough.
I knew now, without Adam to distract me, I still realized I felt Blake’s loss in my very marrow; I couldn’t shake it. I hoped leaving Forest Lake and leaving all my memories behind: the bleachers where we met, the roads we drove on, his former work, all of that, would help me finally to move on.
But I wasn’t sure yet if I wanted to.
Tears threatened to fall from my eyes; I still sat in the driveway, the Challenger idling noisily. “Dammit…” I turned off the ignition and took a deep breath, pushing the disparaging thoughts out of my mind. I’d sobbed over Blake enough over the years. Twelve, to be exact. I was thirty-three now. I wasted nine years with Adam. Even now that our relationship was over, I still didn’t cry over him. I cried for Blake.
The sound of my cell phone trilling from my handbag on the seat next to me pulled me out of my haze. Sniffling back my sobs and wiping the tears from my eyes, I reached into it and pulled it out. “Hello, Vics,” I greeted, trying to force happiness into my tone. After all I was embarking on a new adventure, right? This was a good thing.
“You make it safely to Bumfuck?” She asked, with a chuckle.
“Ha ha,” I replied sardonically. “Yeah, I’m just sitting in the driveway right now.”
She sighed from the other end of the phone. “You’re crying again aren’t you?”
“I am not,” I lied.
“Jess… Blake wouldn’t want you to be sad. He also wouldn’t have wanted you to stick with that douchebag for so long either,” she added. “Time to move on. I just wish you weren’t moving on so far away.”
“I know,” I replied. “But… I had to. I have no more good memories left out there and what is good reminds me of…”
“I know. But all alone out there?”
“I won’t be alone,” I protested. “I told you, I put up an ad for a roommate. I didn’t get a chance to check it, but I’ve already gotten a response.”
“That’s a stranger, though. How can you live with a stranger? How do you know they’re not an axe murderer?”
“Oh come on. I’ll be fine. It’s just… something I have to do, Vics. Okay?” I pleaded. “Maybe some place new, with new memories will inspire a new book. I doubt Big Birchwood would pick it up but with a new name maybe I can find someone else to do it.”
“I know. I know. Please just be careful. If you need anything, Kieran and I are only about two hours away. Less with how he drives,” she said with a snort.
“Right. And thanks for helping move all my things out here. I know how Kieran hates to use his truck for all that heavy stuff,” I said, rolling my eyes. Not like she could see that but it didn’t stop me.
“No problem. You just be careful out there. Okay? Love you girl. We’ll be there soon to check out that new roommate as well, ya hear?”
“Okay. Love you too.” We disconnected the call and I shoved the cell back into the purse.
Now that I was finally parked, I was able to check the email I’d gotten while driving. I thumbed over the screen, went to the email, and immediately cocked a brow.
“A guy?”
Jesse,
I’d be very interested in meeting you and being your roommate, if we hit it off of course. I have to move out of my friend’s house and there aren’t too many places to go here. If you want, text me when you get this and we can figure out a time to meet.
-Seth Archer (010-555-0221)
I laughed shortly to myself. He probably thought I was a guy when he read the name “Jesse”. Autocorrect on my phone probably changed the spelling and I was too distracted to notice.
Did I really want to live with a guy, though? I shrugged. Didn’t hurt to meet him. More than likely he was some young college kid or someone who just moved out of his mother’s basement, did nothing but played video games and took up space. Totally harmless.
I punched in his number and typed in a text.
Hi, Seth. This is Jessie Reynolds. Just got your message about the roommate thing. I just arrived in town and I’m free tonight if you’d like to discuss it. I hit send, and not more than a moment later did I get a reply.
Seth: There’s a café in the middle of the town, on Main St. Can’t miss it. Meet you there in 30 minutes?
“Dang, he’s fast.” But it’s not like I had anything else to do. The last of my things were still in my car, and without internet or cable it’d be a boring night. I was suddenly very curious about this guy that texted in complete sentences and obviously had some sort of brain. Maybe that just meant he was old. I wrinkled my nose… an old, perverted guy with a gross leer. That would be a fast “no.”
Or maybe he was just smart and nerdy. I could deal with that, as long as he didn’t try to peep on me. In any event, I wanted to find out.
That works. See you soon. Just going to change real quick and I’ll be there. No ‘net here yet so I have some things to do on the computer. I’ll be waiting.
Seth: Okay. Be there soon
With another courageous breath, I grabbed my purse and exited the beautiful green machine. I had to smile at it. Adam would have hated it. Blake would have loved it. Furthermore, I loved it. I’d always wanted one, so I bought one. “That’s the spirit, Jessie,” I praised myself quietly. With that, I got out of the car and went into my new house to freshen up and start my new life—and prayed I didn’t make the biggest mistake of my life. And I prayed that Seth would be okay, and not some creepy pervert.
&
nbsp; Little did I know what surprise I had in store for me, waiting at that café.
2
Seth Lewis Archer
“Dude, you don’t have to go, you know.”
I chortled loudly, as I shoved another pile of clothes into a large, black, extremely beat up suitcase. “Yes, Anthony. I do. I’m just in the way here. You know it, and I know it.”
Anthony Flannery stood in the doorway to the bedroom, leaning himself against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest. He was my bandmate, friend, and until sometime this week hopefully, my roommate. Rather, I lived in his house rent-free, ate all his food, and got in the way. Semantics.
“Come on, Seth.” Anthony’s husband, Shane Flannery, stuck his head over Anthony’s shoulder. Where Anthony was tamely dressed always and extremely laid back, with sandy blond hair, stocky build, and brown eyes; Shane was all “flash and fabulousness.” Sometimes he wore makeup, sometimes not, but all the time colorful, lively clothing that fit his personality. That didn’t make him meek, though. There were times he could be downright terrifying and intimidating; he had a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and has taught self-defense classes at the local community center. Both were extremely good guys, and I’d been thankful they let me stay here when I moved to Independence Point to join the band. But, they were newlyweds and I didn’t care who they were—I really didn’t enjoy listening to night after night of hot, wild sex.
Especially when I wasn’t getting any.
I could get some, if I wanted to. Shit, I was the lead singer of Night Addiction, a popular regional Indie rock band. But, I wasn’t in the mood for empty flings any longer.
I slept with a couple women after some our first shows but it was disappointing. There was no real chemistry, no real connection. Flings were okay when I was twenty but I was twenty-six. Time to grow up. All my bandmates were attached now and it was a bit of a downer for me. They constantly nagged me, “When are you going to find someone, Seth?” or “It’s really a shame you’re still alone, Archer.” Or, Ian Mitchell, our lead guitarist would say, “Good lord just fucking go get laid already. You’re too fucking moody.”
It wasn’t because of lack of sex I was moody. It was… just how I was.
“I bet it’s because you’re too loud, you asshole,” Shane said, scowling at his husband, rolling his made-up eyes. It looked good on him, but now I was second-guessing when I wore liner at performances. Shane went all out with light shadow and mascara. I just tried to keep it at badass, rocker eyeliner. At least that’s what I was telling myself today…
“I am not too loud!” Anthony protested, glaring right back at Shane. I shot him a skeptical look.
“I don’t think you know how to be quiet,” I said, snickering. “No, really. It’s time. You guys need to be on your own.”
“And you need to be on the prowl finding someone, Archer,” Anthony scolded.
“You know why I keep distant,” I reminded him, with an arch of my brow.
“Ugh, fuck, Seth. So you have some mental problems. Issues. Whatever they’re calling it today,” Shane said, with another roll of his eyes. “That shouldn’t stop you from meeting someone.”
“No, I think that’s precisely why it should,” I replied dryly. Shaking my head, I turned back to the twin bed I’d been sleeping on since I arrived here in town and grabbed another armful of clothes, shoving them into the suitcase without any real organization. “If I find someone, great. But I’m not going to go actively search for it.”
Anthony groaned lightly. “Then how are you ever going to find anyone? You just expect her to just… crash into you?”
She already did, I thought, but quickly pushed the thought out of my mind. I had a stupid obsession with some chick at my first performance that I never saw again. Just because I thought, stupidly, that we had some sort of real connection. Some love at first sight bullshit. “I saw her over the crowd and her eyes met mine and knew she was the one…” Ha. I was foolishly obsessed with the idea of such things, and it was preventing me from… well, everything.
Including correctly folding these clothes, because Shane was about to have an aneurysm. “Ugh, you’re killing me. Killing me. Let me do that.” Shane pushed by Anthony, and then me, and started tearing the contents of my suitcase out.
“Hey!” I protested.
“Dude, just let him. He’ll never be able to sleep otherwise,” Anthony said, with a laugh, as Shane proceeded to tear out and refold all my clothes.
“Ugh. You need a woman. How are you still wearing these things?” He held up a pair of my ripped jeans that were faded and stained. “And how the hell do you fit into these? I don’t even think I could get my balls in these.”
“Are you saying I have no balls?” I tried to hide my smile. I was skinny and lanky, and I wore the skinny jeans because anything bigger would fall off of me on stage when I was performing. Learned that the hard way—the video of my bare ass was still all over YouTube.
Well… I had been using their weight bench to lift some, and I was looking a bit less lanky and a bit more… defined? But I just had one of those metabolisms where I could eat and eat and never gain an ounce. That sort of sucked in a society that favored bigger, manlier, muscular guys with six-pack abs.
Oh well. It didn’t help that I had certain…issues with my appearance. Deep-seated, mental issues. But in reality, I wasn’t terrible looking, just not the most masculine out there. I made it work in my favor though and covered myself with piercings and tattoos to fit the rocker persona. It worked pretty well, I thought. Well, at least I didn’t look quite so geeky so… I’d take it.
“I’m sure you do, man. But I’m not going to look for you. Another reason you need to find someone though; to fatten you up a bit,” Shane said, clicking his tongue. “And find your balls.”
“Jesus Christ, Shane, do you have any shame?” Anthony clamped his hands over his face, shaking his head.
“Nope. Not a lick.”
I threw up my hands in exasperation. “Just as well, I’m supposed to meet up with this new…roommate or whatever in about thirty minutes.”
“And just who is this person?” Anthony asked skeptically.
I shrugged. “Someone who just moved here. That house on Lakefront? You know the one.”
“Ah, that one. The red one?”
“Not sure. Apparently,” I replied.
“So I wouldn’t know the name then, I’m guessing?” Anthony questioned.
“You know a Jesse Reynolds?” At least, that’s what the name said on the ad online. We’d only traded texts so far so I had no idea if Jesse was some old creepy dude or—what. I guessed I’d find out.
“Can’t say that I do.” Anthony frowned. “Well, don’t let us keep you. He’ll be busy for a while.” To prove his point, Shane continued on his verbal assault of my shit fashion sense.
“You need to go shopping, this stuff—”
“—he’s a singer, man. Not a model!” Anthony grumbled.
“Pffft.” Shane turned to me, giving me a once-over. “He could be. Those cheekbones, those lips—I’d kill for those. And those damn eyes the color of dark honey. Shit. Why do you think you have damned women falling over you at gigs? You’re hot.”
I scoffed, waving him off. “I do not. Well, I better get going.” I grabbed my leather jacket on the bed, my wallet, cell phone, and keys on the nightstand, gave Anthony a friendly pat on the shoulder, bypassed my black Chevy truck and headed to my green bike, parked in the driveway. It was April in Wisconsin, and the weather had finally warmed up a bit. Perfect for a bike ride. The ice was finally gone, and the large snow piles and the sun was hot on my shoulders. It was, right now, the best thing for me next to sex.
The very last gig I had with my former band, Fever Pitch, was at a casino, and miracle of miracles, I put twenty bucks in a slot machine and won this damned bike. I never would have bought it for myself, but now that I had it? It was fucking awesome.
Yeah I probably need to get laid. Not th
at that was happening anytime soon. My new roommate was probably going to be some embarrassing nerd-gamer with body odor and I’d never be able to bring anyone home. Or some old guy who liked to peer at women through their windows or was obsessed with porn.
Not that it mattered. I hadn’t been able to concentrate on anyone for about… oh… a year now. It was stupid, and pathetic. Since running into that that green-eyed woman at the Lagoona, I hadn’t been able to get interested in anyone else. It was beyond illogical, beyond stupid but… it was what it was. I just figured it was an excuse for me not to move on to someone new. Relationships were hard, especially new ones. The idea of being into someone I’d only known for ten minutes a year ago was ridiculous.
But…she was my first fan. How do you ever forget that?
For now, though, I pushed the thought aside as I drove. The distance to the café in the center of town wasn’t far—only a couple of miles, just far enough to get the wind blowing in my hair and get a nice speed going. When I arrived in the small parking lot, I almost fell over, doing a double take at the lime green Dodge Challenger parked near the front. The exact same color as my bike, and way too damned flashy for this sleepy little lake town.
“Holy shit,” I murmured, pushing the kickstand of the bike down with my foot, and shutting off the noisy ignition. Most people around here drove SUVs or trucks because of the weather—or to pull their boats. I had no use for that, and clearly this person didn’t either. I did have a small truck that was really a glorified sedan with a truck bed but—whatever. It was cheap. I had never seen this car in town before—I would have recognized it. My outlook brightened; maybe it belonged to the new guy in town, needing the roommate. “Hmm…” I said under my breath. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all. I didn’t have any “wingmen” here in Independence Point and the idea held a certain appeal. I had Wes, but he was back in Minneapolis. He only showed up here when he needed to use Ian’s studio or to show up at holiday events put on by his cousin, Quin. And, he was a bit of an asshole at times and could easily get slapped for the things he said to women, but he was all I had.